


All that I Know

by ParadoxinMotion



Series: The Fashion AU [1]
Category: Fullmetal Alchemist - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, But really with these two, Ed is his PA, Fluff, Gen, Humor, Lan fan puts up with so much tbh, M/M, Mutual Pining, Not enough to tag this as an angst fic or anything, Roy is a model, Sexual Content, The shitty fashion!AU no one asked for, extensive cuddling, shit goes down in the drama department, some sads but it will mostly be okay, what were you expecting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-08
Updated: 2016-05-18
Packaged: 2018-05-19 00:28:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 57,769
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5949192
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ParadoxinMotion/pseuds/ParadoxinMotion
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Edward Elric is convinced, with empirical evidence, that his job does not pay him nearly enough.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Too Much like Armani

**Author's Note:**

  * For [fishingclocks](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fishingclocks/gifts).

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I take offense to that.”
> 
> “Please do,” Ed replies, unlocking his computer.

_"Que ferais-tu?_  
_Putain, je ne sais pas!"_

_-_ Work This Body, Walk the Moon

-=-=-=-=-

Edward Elric is convinced, with empirical evidence, that his job does not pay him nearly enough.

It’s not the early mornings with a boss that acts like he’s a personal slave instead of a valued human being. It’s also not that the sheer _incompetency_ of the photographers overwhelming him. He isn’t even phased by the shitty quality of the coffee they brew in those miserable excuses for ‘pots’, which Ed wouldn’t even trust drugs to, let alone coffee. No. What really, _really_ gets to him is that people see him doing his job and think it’s something you can just switch out. That he’s somehow _easily replaceable_ and anyone could do it just as well. Well, he’s here this morning, at the ass-crack of dawn and armed only with his coffee, to prove them wrong.

Don’t misunderstand: Edward Elric is not an insecure person. He doesn’t want to show people the sheer magnitude of their flawed reasoning because he has to convince everyone that he has some value. He _knows_ he has value, and wields it, too, thank you very much. But what he _does_? What he comes in every fucking weekday to accomplish and see through? That shit is invaluable, any future employee beware.

People liked to complain about the Amestris modelling agency. _It sounds too much like ‘Armani’,_ they’d whine, _And they only have, like,_ one _model who’s even famous._

Well, maybe they’re right. Maybe Amestris is a damn homonym-promoting, ego-inflating agency, he can get behind that. Or at least out of its way as it ploughs competition aside. At least Amestris does it fucking _well._

And they take their jobs seriously, however much shit Ed might get for his work. Being the personal assistant in a place like this is a teetering precipice on a cutthroat edge, and the PA of that _one model_ people like to joke about. Ed rolls his eyes as he shoulders his way inside, stopping at the ‘mail table’ to check for anything new. He sets down one of the coffees in his free hand as he begins to parse through the newest paper cargo. Roy Mustang is the man who above all others did not need to hear that reputation; if his ego goes up one more notch, Ed is going to make a barometer for determining it.

“Yo, Jean,” he calls, pushing through countless magazines, folders, and envelopes. The camera-man pops his head past the doorway, chewing on a bagel. There is a smudge of cream cheese on his upper lip. “Did anything come for Roy? Y’know he’s expecting that information package.”

Jean nods, at least having the grace to chew and swallow before speaking. “If anything came, it would be in the Basket.” Then he disappears again, no doubt to finish his bagel in the last few minutes of peace before the office really comes to life.

Ed raises his eyebrows, turning towards the ominous creel with fraying wood. It sits on the back corner of the table, seemingly staring at him balefully. His other coffee is still sitting in front of it innocently.

“What.” Ed says to the basket, chugging back _his_ coffee.

The basket makes no reply.

“Fine, then. I don’t need your affirmation,” Edward declares, striding towards it until he can look in its aged depths. There is a single manila folder, almost purposefully pushed to the very bottom so that Ed really has to _reach_ to pull it out. A little crinkled, but no worse for wear. Tucking the folder under his arm and picking up the other coffee, he leaves the silent but no doubt disparaged basket behind. Heaving a satisfied sigh, he makes his way to the elevator and punches the button, waiting for the doors to open with the customary _ding!_

He steps inside and somewhat awkwardly presses the **12,** relaxing for a few moments as he feels it rise. Lids sliding shut over golden eyes, he leans against the unforgiving metal. Sure, people take him for granted. They don’t think about the minutiae he does.

The button dings, the doors slide open, and Ed is on the brink of the flurried gauntlet on the mysterious Floor 12. Grinning, he grips his coffees a little tighter and darts through.

He might be the only one to identify this place as a gauntlet, but it’s definitely true. Most of the lower employees have mentioned, casually or otherwise, that they want to take a peek up there. Ed doesn’t blame them; in fact, he’d be finding any excuse necessary to sneak a look if he was trapped down _there._ Roy jokingly dubbed floor 12 as not just Headquarters, but the Military Headquarters, and Ed is inclined to agree with him.

He gets through the hallway, nearly crashing into a few people on the way. It’s a big floor, filled with huge windows made of reflective glass and clean, cream-coloured walls. It’s a little too crisp for his taste; he’d throw a few dashes of red or dark blue in there if it were up to him, but he can’t deny that the space feels _clean,_ and ready to be worked in. And that’s the intended effect, right?

At the end of the hall and to the left, there’s the closed door he’s been looking for. Most of the occupied offices have doors slightly ajar, or even wide open, but not this one. Ed rolls his eyes at the unspoken, if tragic, drama of it all, and practically kicks the door open with his hands occupied.

“Yippee ki yay, motherfucker,” he says, by way of greeting.

A muffled groan answers him from the desk to the far left. The whole office, big as a small apartment, is walled with reflective glass windows, and the place is bathed in light. The sky is clear and blue above them, dotted with only the occasional cloud. Ed breathes through his nose, opens the door about halfway, and moves forward.

Roy is resting his head on his arms, which are currently on the desk. His dark hair is a gory tangle that he no doubt brushed that morning, but without consciously thinking about it. Certainly _not_ thinking about whether he’d be spotted or not. Of course. Because higher thinking was what they’re paying _Ed_ for. It’s almost Nine in the morning, but you’d think Roy had dragged himself in at Six. Ed knows for a fact that Roy often times stays up later than necessary to work, but early mornings are the bane of his existence. Wouldn’t be caught in one for the world, or even a well-made macchiato.

Speaking of…”Got your morning hit, Mustang. So get off your lousy ass and drink it so we can get some decent work outta you.”

“I’m not on my ass, which is _not_ lousy; I’m on my arms.” Roy’s voice is slightly muffled, but the snark leaks right through.

Ed sighs, sets his own (nearly empty) coffee cup and the folder down, and takes a sip of Roy’s own.

The man has animal instincts. “Are you _drinking_ my _coffee_?” He demands, peeking up through his arms.

Ed looks down at him stonily and answers by taking another sip. Roy’s eyes widen and he lunges to successfully swipe the coffee from Ed’s hand. It’s a violent, primitive gesture, but Ed knows that he’s really getting off lucky. If anyone else had sipped that coffee, Roy would have probably clawed their face off with those perfectly manicured nails.

He folds his arms while Roy takes a long, needy gulp, and then sets it down, having the good grace to look a _little_ ashamed of himself.

“I’ve told you not to drink my coffee before,” he says, already sounding significantly more awake.

Ed waves a hand, still standing in front of the desk. “And you’ve told me not to answer your calls, get you extra toilet paper for your little shithouse here, and try to cook. I’ve done all of those and you’ve never complained.”

“Well, I _have_ complained about you cooking,” Roy replies mildly.

“Semantics,” Ed waves a hand dismissively and walks around the office. He wrinkles his nose critically at the haphazardly dropped stack of paper on the floor, and the slightly dusty coffee table. God knows Roy had never drunk coffee on that, and probably never would. He swipes a finger through the dust, leaving a single long trail. Wiping his finger, he turns back to Roy, who is drinking his coffee with a blissful expression. “Were you just hiding from the light when I came in here, or have you done _anything_ this morning?”

Roy looks back at him, affronted. “I’ll have you know, I already met with Roach about the publicity agreement and got that out of the way. My day has brightened significantly.”

Ed snorts. “You know, I think the name ‘Roach’ is well deserved. He’s browned from that shitty tan he insists on, generally terrifying in an inexplicable way, and crawls all over any agency that will accept him.”

“I take it,” Roy observes, taking a quick swallow of his caffeine, “that you don’t like him?”

“Go fuckin’ figure.” Ed rolls his eyes and wipes off the dust that was on his finger, nodding his head towards the table. “Folder came in for you this mornin’. I think they’ll be ready for you to start soon.”

Roy’s eyes shine with barely contained excitement, and even Ed can’t resist a small smile. He lets him open up the package uninterrupted, while he scoops up the papers from the floor and peers through them. Copies of an agenda from a week ago, receipts to the coffee place nearby, even a fan-letter or two. What do those things even _say? Oh, Mr. Mustang, you sexy beast, I can’t wait to see you in the Vanity Fair shoot, where I and the rest of the single mothers who visit my house every Tuesday night can fawn over your half-naked body. Oh, I swoon._

He grins to himself, deigning not to read the letters. He might be nosy, sure, but only where it concerns him. Mustang might be helpless without him, but he didn’t need a babysitter.

Ed turned to where Roy was frowning at the crinkled paper from its stay in the Basket, and sighs. Well. Doesn’t need a babysitter _most_ of the time.

“Glare at it all you want, it’s not gonna smooth itself out,” he comments helpfully.

Roy huffs and puts the paper down on his desk, smoothing it with his hands before he folds them and looks up at Edward. “Do you have the agenda for today?”

Ed shakes his head. “Lemme see if Kain has it yet.” He reaches into his pocket to pull out his phone, grumbling when it nearly slips from his hand. He would have been perfectly content to retain his Nokia for as long as it would work, but Riza had other ideas.

 _“You’re a professional, working for a professional agency, under a professional manager,”_ she’d said, calm voice impassive to his pleas. _“It is essential that you be able to do your job as efficiently and succinctly as possible, because believe me when I say that Roy Mustang_ will _occupy every minute of your time and every ounce of your energy.”_

 _Yeah, right,_ Edward had thought at the time. Look at him now: eating his own words, and shit.

So he thumbs through his iPhone 4 until he finds Kain’s number and shoots him a quick text. It’s his job to make sure that the agenda is completed and printed every morning, or whenever it’s required. Since _that_ wouldn’t be enough on his own, he’s also a backup technical assistant and helps Media with charity events, when they want to use Roy to help themselves stay in business longer.

_Yo Roy needs that agenda so I hope you got it_

The reply takes less than a minute; Ed is not-so-secretly envious of the sheer speed of Kain’s typing skills.

_Yeah, I have it. You can come pick up your copy, and Roy’s copy, which he will ignore._

Ed snorts, fingers flying across the keyboard. His tongue sticks out the edge of his mouth as he corrects a few typos.

_Fab. Be there in five._

Clicking his screen off and sticking it back in his pocket, he whirls around to look at Roy, who is reading the contents of the folder. His face is concentrated and serious, slats of light falling across the blackness of his hair and turning it almost purple. One hand covers his mouth as he reads, totally absorbed.

Suddenly realising that he’s been staring, and that’s definitely _not_ something he has time for, Ed moves towards the door. “I’m gonna pick up the agenda, Mustang. Be back in two. Maybe three; depends on office traffic.”

“Great,” Roy says, which is always a dead giveaway that he isn’t listening at all.

“Your office is burning from the ground up, and our only possibility of escape is to leap through that window and hope we land on something,” Ed tries, voice perfectly calm.

Roy flips his page over, nodding. “Thank you, Edward.”

Ed rolls his eyes again, grabbing his coffee from the desk and going out the half-open door. The caffeine is cold as the frozen wastes of hell, but hey-coffee is coffee. Ed doesn’t have the luxury of complaining. He heads down the hall until he finds room 4, which Kain currently occupies.

The place is a mess of papers, a shredder or two, pens littered _everywhere,_ and Kain sitting in a small island at the front. The offices up on floor twelve are all bigger than the average office, and the small editor’s is no different; it’s about the size of a bedroom. Still, by some terrifying or supernatural force, there is trash in the form of papers everywhere.

“Kain,” Ed opens, tossing his empty cup in the trash bin. “What the fuck?”

The aforementioned man turns towards him, guilt written across his face. “Listen, I intend to clean it this afternoon. I’ve just been run off my _feet_ this past week and stuff just…” he glanced around at the sea of white. “…Accumulated.”

“Right. I’m not here to judge your personal office habits,” Ed consoles, clearly judging him. “D’ya have those papers?”

“Oh, um, yes!” Kain reaches across his desk and pulls out two neat, crisp sheets of paper. Attached to a clipboard and _everything_ -Ed had been looking for that one.

“Thanks a ton, Fuery,” Ed tosses over his shoulder, wading to safety and disappearing out the door. The whole floor is just _filled_ with a soft murmuring sound coming from all directions. Ed breathes in _Eau du Busy Office,_ letting it fuel his veins, almost half as good as coffee. He’s already got _one_ person hooked on caffeine; the last thing he needs to be worried about is himself.

He’s impressed to find Roy actually out of his desk area and looking down at the city, nose nearly pressed against the glass. He doesn’t seem to be looking for anything in particular; just looking, lost in thought. Ed’s eyes linger on the way the light softly frames him, the soft curve of his mouth in the reflective glass. Then he cleared his throat, moving to stand beside Roy. “Got the agenda for the day,” he informs, holding the papers up as if some sort of proof.

“Wonderful,” Roy turns and smiles at him; it’s an _early morning_ smile, where his face is too soft to be coy, still too busy waking up to let there be anything sly in it. Then he opens his mouth again, and loses it all. “Would you read it off to me?”

Ed scowls, thrusting one of the papers at his chest. “Read it your damn self, or have you gone blind?”

Roy sighs, taking the sheet from where Ed’s insistently poked it against his chest. His fingers close over Ed’s when he takes it, and Edward’s chest does a funny little twist.

“Thank you,” Roy says, scanning the document. Ed, still recovering, just points to Roy’s 12:30. “You’ve got lunch with Aaron again today.”

Roy sighs, batting Ed’s hand away. “What is he trying to prove with this? I agreed to the shoot; I signed the papers last _week,_ so why is he insisting on _another_ lunch outing?”

“’Lunch outing’ is a great phrase that means a very short word,” Ed smirks, taking a step back to scribble something down, leaning on his clipboard. “Maybe he’s just trying to make a good impression. Y’know he’s relatively new in this business; you’re his first big gig. He needs to make this easy for himself, and it’s perfectly natural that he’d want to be on your good side.”

“He’s _already_ on my good side, I’m very easy to win over,” Roy snorts. He drops the paper onto the coffee table, then frowns when he notices the dust. “Ed-?”

“Already on it,” Ed interrupts, not looking up.

Roy huffs out a laugh. “I suppose this is the appropriate time to ask, ‘What would I do without you?’.”

Ed snorts, heading towards _his_ desk, which sits across from Roy’s on the other side of the room. He sits heavily, spinning in the seat a few times. “Nothing. You’d hide at your desk and drown in paperwork.”

“I take offense to that.”

“Please do,” Ed replies, unlocking his computer.

Oh, he does love his computer. Phones be damned, but computers he can get behind. This model didn’t come out too long ago, and it was love at first sight with him. The only thing he loves more than his desktop computer is his laptop.

Roy must have sulked off to his desk again, leaving Ed behind the large screen of his computer in peace. In the welcome, if slightly suspicious silence following, he allows himself a small smile.

And people thought his job was _replaceable._

-=-=-=-=-

As much as the general populace liked to joke, (and ‘people’ admittedly included Ed) about Roy’s work ethic, Roy is definitely no slacker. From almost two years of watching him, Ed has figured out that Roy knows what reputation proceeds him. Encourages it, even-people assuming that he’s just another drama-making model means they underestimate how ruthlessly efficient he _can_ be. Giving him a distinct advantage of surprise that Ed admires, if secretly.

They work at their desks in relative silence until right after Eleven, at which point Roy shifts.

“Ed,” he says very seriously, “it’s a cappuccino day.”

“Huh,” Edward blinks, peering over his monitor. “Thought it was a mocha day.”

Roy makes a face. “Too much chocolate.”

“You love chocolate.”

“Not today!”

Ed locks his computer, gives it a pat, and throws on his jacket. Sometimes Roy’s reputation _is_ well-deserved. “Whelp.” He grabs his laptop bag. “Coffee’s not gonna brew itself.”

“If only,” Roy sighs, sounding regretful.

Ed smirks, swinging his bag. “Bring the paperwork and we can get some shit done before you have lunch.”

Moving to catch up with him as they move down the hall, Roy holds up his briefcase as if in declaration of his innocence. “Got it here.”

“Cool.” Ed presses the Down button and the elevator dings. Once it arrives they step in, moving in smooth sync to stand side by side. Some annoying pop music plays from the speakers above as the elevator travels downwards; Ed would take the trashy original elevator jazz any day.

The door finally frees them from Trashy 2000’s, releasing them to the first floor. It’s just as busy as the 12th, but in a different way. This and floor 3 is for interns, tech managers, even a design artist or two.

The receptionist is there, too, of course, and offers them a friendly wave. “Morning, Ed! Roy.”

Ed smiles at her, lifting his hand in a returning wave. “’Sup.”

“Good morning,” Roy smiles at her, and then they’re both out on the sidewalk. 

“I still think she has a crush on you,” Roy comments.

Ed snorts, eyes on his phone. “I still think you’re full of shit.”

“This _weather_ is full of shit,” Roy responds, burying his free hand in the mile deep pocket of his overcoat, glancing at the sky like it has personally wronged him.

Ed, knee-deep in a barrage of text messages that he hasn’t checked since early that morning, looks up. He smiles, admiring the few clouds and the light breeze. “Heard it was gonna rain later.”

“Why do you sound so cheerful about that?” Roy demands, opening the door to the coffee shop since Ed’s hands are occupied. He makes a home there, plugging his laptop into the outlet and firing it up with a sigh.

“Bad weather lifts my spirits,” he replies simply. “I’ll grab a table. Go order your morning hit.”

Roy makes a face at him. “It’s caffeine, not cocaine.”

“With you, it’s hard to tell the difference,” Ed tosses over his shoulder, spotting a free table conveniently far back. 

The barista knows them both very well at this point. So well, in fact, that he has ceased to be awed at all and instead devotes his energy trying to guess what coffee Roy wants each day.

“Lemme guess,” he interjects as Roy comes up to the front. “Caramel macchiato.”

“No,” Roy shakes his head.

“Americano.”

“Wrong again,” Roy says patiently.

The barista is getting desperate. “…Chai?”

Roy wrinkles his nose. “Repulsive. One cappuccino and one French roast, please.”

“I’ll get you someday,” the barista says. His nametag reads _Mazen,_ which Roy will really have to inquire about some day, because honestly. Mazen sighs, and starts firing up the machine.

Roy waits for his order and fights off a yawn, looking around until he sees Ed in the back. He’s typing away, glow of the computer reflecting on the panes of his reading glasses.

 _I_ adore _those glasses,_ Roy thinks, before he can stop himself.

It’s thoughts like these that give Roy existential issues. Most days he just passes it off; it’s no secret that he’d be a floundering mess of good clothes and bad scheduling without Ed. But sometimes he wonders if it goes beyond mere appreciative neediness and worries. But something like _feelings_ can’t afford to crop up right now, anyway-his brain knows that even if the funny feeling in his chest doesn’t.

“That’ll be $5.50,” Mazen  says, snapping him out of his reverie.

Roy turns around and fishes out his wallet. “Much appreciated.”

The besmirched barista just hands him his coffees and turns to the next customer, one of which seems to be looking at Roy a little too close for his comfort. So, he grabs his cargo and (gracefully, of course) hurries away.

“I’ve missed my calling,” he announces, setting down his own coffee and holding out Ed’s. “I was obviously destined to be a barista, and it got lost in translation somewhere.”

Ed raises golden eyebrows into twin arches and accepts the cup. “I didn’t ask for coffee.” He sniffs it suspiciously.

“Sometimes I do nice things out of the goodness of my heart,” Roy is sitting now and accentuates the words by placing a hand over his heart.

Ed just stares at him stonily while he takes an experimental sip. Then his forehead smoothes itself and Roy gives himself a mental pat on the back. “Huh. You got it right.”

“I’m not _totally_ blind, you know,” Roy shoots back, drinking his cappuccino. Not even Ed’s jabbing can ruin his blissful caffeine-induced haze now.

“You’re getting there.” Ed flicks his attention back to his laptop. “Let’s get to work; you need to be at _Fuhrer’s_ in an hour.”

“At least he picked a good spot,” Roy concedes, obviously still grumpy.

Ed grins. _Fuhrer’s_ was actually a pretty snazzy little spot, despite Roy’s complaining. They serve home-designed sandwiches, and were famous for their Sandwich Bradley. They also, incidentally, serve ice cream. Ed was sold after his first go.

They work in comfortable silence again, only breaking the quiet to ask about the phrasing in an agreement or which photographer Roy would rather work with. Before Ed knows it, Roy is tapping his shoulder.

“Tag,” he says.

Ed takes his glasses off, folding them into their case. “Wait, does that mean it’s time to go, or you desperately need to get out?”

“Both?”

“Fair ‘nuff.” Ed carefully powers off his computer and gently puts it back in its case.

“You treat that laptop better than you do me,” Roy notes mournfully.

Ed picks up his case and grins wolfishly. “This computer ‘n I have a pure, symbiotic relationship.”

“Everyone can see that you don’t really love it,” Roy accuses as they leave the building. “You just use it for its body.”

“Livy _is_ in top form,” Ed tosses back, patting his laptop bag and leaning into the breeze. Wisps of golden hair drift around his face, catching the sunlight. Roy wonders if it’s as soft as it looks, if corn silk really doesn’t compare, as he suspects it does not.

The walk to _Fuhrer’s_ is a brief one, and admittedly, Roy enjoys the exercise. Even cappuccinos come at a price, and it’s not one he can just swipe away with his debit card. Ed seems to love his coffee almost as much, but since he’s always going to get it for Roy, it’s less noticeable. Or maybe Ed has just wormed his way into Mazen’s heart better than Roy has.

He shakes his head. Impossible.

“Yo, you’re about to walk past the doorway.” Ed reaches out an arm to physically stop him, sliding his phone into his pants’ pocket. “Aaron’s over _there,_ ” he points to the uncovered eating area, where their mutual acquaintance is waving excitedly.

Roy huffs a breath and turns in the right direction. “This is going to be an ordeal.”

“Relax,” his assistant insists, nearly pushing him forward. “You get free food out of it, at least, right?”

“ _Some_ of us have thoughts that branch beyond our stomachs, Edward,” Roy tosses back with no real venom.

Ed just scoffs and grins at Aaron, now that they’re in earshot. He lifts a hand in a wave and then rests his hands on the edge of the chair across from Aaron’s. Roy’s eyes flick down to them almost subconsciously; they’re such small hands, but you can see a myriad of tiny scars, smooth nailbeds, surprisingly clean. Roy could probably hold both of them in just one of his. Then he looks back up quickly, and Aaron is smiling at him expectantly.

“Did we keep you long?” He inquires, straightening his back.

“No, no, not at all. Is your PA joining us for lunch?”

Roy nods, making the immediate decision that _yes,_ Edward will be joining them. Ed looks at him questioningly, eyebrow raised. “I’m staying?”

Roy hopes that the silent plea in his eyes is strong enough to break through Ed’s usual obliviousness. _I don’t want to sit through another lunch alone with this person._

Whether he gets it or just doesn’t care, Ed pulls out the chair his hands were resting on moments before. He plops down in his seat and picks up a paper menu, eyes already glued to the options.

Since Ed is now MIA, Roy folds his hands on top of the table and turns towards their guest. “What are you having?”

“Oh, their Sandwich Bradley, of course,” Aaron nods to the menu. “It’s famous in this city, you know.”

Roy keeps the slight distaste out of his face, but he can sense Ed smiling behind his menu. “You know, I never really cared for that sandwich.”

“Real shame.”

A waitress comes over a few moments later and takes their drink orders (three waters, one with extra lemon for Ed). By the time she comes back with her tray of iced dihydrogen monoxide, Roy has elected what he wants.

Ed orders a BLT, in typical Edwardian fashion. He always liked things that were simple, and the more bacon, the better.

Aaron, of course, gets the Sandwich Bradley with a side of potato salad.

Roy gets a Martin’s muffin, which he has never tried before in his life, and judging by the description, this is a source of great tragedy.

Aaron, it turns out, had a bigger agenda in meeting them for lunch than a bite together as comrades. The magazine he edits for is very pleased to have Roy on board, but they want a guarantee that he won’t just model the photos and skedaddle. This, Aaron explains, happened with someone last year and the magazine has been a little on their toes ever since.

“Quite understandable,” Roy nods, although the idea of modelling for charity seems a bit absurd to him.

Ed had explained already that this month’s issue would give half their profits to two local charities, and since Roy was making his way quite smoothly upwards, they were certain that it would drag in more profits from customers. Roy understood what Ed was saying at the time, but it still didn’t strike a chord with him. Regardless of the fact that it was for charity, it felt a little like peddling his body for profit.

Upon hearing this, his PA just raised his eyebrows. “Mustang, you’re a _model._ Peddling your body is basically the job description.”

“This feels like prostitution,” Roy had grumbled over his second cup of coffee.

“Hey, in Singapore, prostitution is a legitimate business. Nothing to be ashamed of,” Ed comments cheerfully. “So stop whinin’.”

When their sandwiches arrive, Ed gets a blissful few moments of quiet that are almost half as nice as the sandwich. Roy can judge him all he wants; this bacon is amazing.

By the time they finish eating, it’s almost 1:30, and Ed firmly reminds Roy that he has a 1:30 appointment that day. Some guy had _somehow_ brought in the completely wrong wardrobe for Roy’s upcoming shoot, and so they’d finally got it in and needed to make sure it all fit.

“Talk to you soon,” Aaron waves at them as they make their departure.

“Hopefully later than sooner,” Roy mutters under his breath, and Ed snorts. He pulls out his clipboard from his bag and holds it up to Roy, so that Roy can ascertain that the appointment is, in fact, at 2:00.

Ed completely bullshitted a half hour of absolutely nothing, and Roy would never have thought of that. Probably because he can barely remember what he ate for breakfast, let alone what his schedule says.

He blinks for a moment. “Marry me,” he says.

Ed holds up both hands. “Both a little busy for that, Mustang. ‘Sides, you’d be cheating on your job.”

“Relationships _are_ such a trial,” Roy sighs.

Ed mimes blowing a kiss, eyes fixed on his phone.

 

-=-=-=-=- 


	2. "Newcomers? Fuck."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Just make sure Ed knows it, then, okay?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Listening a lot to [this](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=G_zY_jSVXSU) and [this one.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gPedH9B8AAE) Someday I will create a playlist for this fic, and it will be all Walk the Moon songs, and I will laugh into my smoothie.
> 
> Sorry about the slow update! I've got a ton of stuff going on this time of year, as I'm sure is the case with most college students. Hope this makes up for the wait. :)

_"I said careful now, what you do to my head."_

_-_ Tightrope, Walk the Moon

-=-=-=-=-

Maes barely waits after knocking on the door before waltzing into Roy’s office, cheery smile plastered across his cheerful face. Roy, knee-deep in his copy of the schedule that Ed had hastily handed him, and halfway through a macchiato, looks up disapprovingly.

“It’s too early to be this happy,” he comments, tones dry as a desert.

Maes waves a hand, not stopping in his bubbly walk until he’s standing right next to Roy, standing alarmingly tall in comparison to the seated man. Roy turns his gaze upwards, hoping that his face can communicate how _done_ he is with this conversation before they’ve even started.

“Do you just lose all sense of hope and humour when Ed leaves you?” Maes demands, straightening his blue button-down. “Is that it?”

“Frankly,” Roy drawls, turning his attention back to the work on his desk, “I barely even noticed he was gone.”

“Well, you _did_ look a little wrapped up in that schedule,” Maes admits, snatching it from the desk before Roy can claim it. He looks over the neatly printed numbers, frowning at the suspiciously blank 8:00 PM portion on Thursday. “Why is it just the time?”

“Ah,” Roy says. “Ed and I are going shopping.”

Maes’ face grows instantly delighted, and Roy holds up both his hands. “We’re getting _groceries_ because we’ll be working late on Thursday.”

“Oh, I’m sure you will be,” Maes says infuriatingly calmly, accompanying wink making the whole thing a bit less _dead serious._

Roy sighs. “How many times do I have to tell you, Maes?”

“At least once more,” the cheerful tone is back as Maes slides away to investigate other parts of his office for God knows what reason. “As always.”

“Did you _need_ something?” Roy demands, taking a sip of his coffee. Maybe he really _is_ a bit grumpy this morning. “Or did you just come here to gossip?”

Maes whips around, dark hair flying. His wife would have an aneurysm if she were here, Roy thinks idly. He’s certain of it.

“It’s about the shoot, the one on Wednesday.”

Roy’s eyes slip to the innocent sheet of paper on his desk. It’s been slightly wrinkled at the corners from Maes’ meddling, and he smoothes it out with his thumb. “Today is Monday,” he mumbles aloud to himself. The fingers of his right hand snap as he makes the realisation. _“That’s_ why Ed isn’t here.”

Maes looks at him confusedly. “Wait, so you _actually_ forgot?”

Roy shrugs faintly. Maes looks horrified, as if Roy had just announced his intentions to burn the building to the ground instead of merely _forgetting his PA’s_ whereabouts at the moment. But he continues, seemingly brushing off Roy’s ignorance.

“Right, so he’s working with the newcomers right now, which means he probably won’t be _back_ back until this evening.”

Roy blinks. A day without Ed _does_ seem a little depressing, or at least, quiet. But…“And?”

“ _And,_ following that, this morning,” Maes is standing in front of the window now, looking down at the busy street below. “We got in two new interns, and Riza’s asked Ed to show them the ropes. So he’ll probably be gone a lot of today.”

“And then the shoot is on Wednesday,” Roy finishes.

“So Ed will be working with management tomorrow to make sure everything is ship-shape for you,” Maes mimes a salute.

“So…he won’t be around a lot of tomorrow, too,” Roy says, slowly like Maes is a small child that must be dealt with carefully.

His old friend nods, like Roy is a student that’s finally breaking through. “Right. Since your PA will be absent quite often for the next couple of days, Kain will be helping you wherever it’s needed.”

 _“Kain?”_ Roy tries (and fails) to keep the note of disbelief out of his voice. Kain is a very nice guy, and no doubt perfectly capable of handling himself in this situation, but he lacks experience.

After he communicates this thought to Maes, the other man just shrugs. “It shouldn’t be anything too much for him to handle. I realise he’s not like _Ed,_ but you should be fine. It’s only two days, right?”

“Right,” Roy agrees, but his tone lacks enthusiasm. It’s not that he doubts Kain, or is even devastated that it won’t be Ed doing his normal job. Roy’s an understanding guy; things have to change around to fit sometimes. He glances up again to find Maes looking at him curiously.

“Was that all?”

“All in the business department.” Maes practically _skips_ forward, resting his hands on Roy’s desk. Roy resists the urge to scoot back in his chair.

“Was there another department you wanted to address?” Roy says, eyebrows raised.

“The…department of Roy’s daily life?” Maes tries.

Roy frowns.

“Okay. Personal life. Crossing it off the list.” Maes mimes scratching off a list.

Roy strongly resists the urge to bury his head in his arms. Maes finally seems to take pity on him, because he leans back to a comfortable amount of personal space, and purses his mouth in thought. “Did you even notice that Ed was gone?”

Roy blinks eyes flitting to the empty space on his desk where his coffee should be. “Of course I did. I’m absent-minded sometimes, not an idiot.”

Maes quirks his mouth up slightly. “Half the office wants him as their assistant. At least four people we’ve worked with in the past have offered him employment.”

“Why are you telling me this?” Roy asks sourly. He blames it on the lack of caffeine.

Maes shrugs, hands sliding into his pockets. Roy’s eyes narrow on such an obviously _bad_ sign of things. “I just think sometimes…”

“That’s unfortunate,” Roy shoots back, voice dry as sun-baked dust particles.

Maes has the audacity to stick his tongue out at him. “I worry that you don’t always…appreciate Ed in all his charms.” He lifts his hands, as if saying this has taken a great load off of him.

Roy’s eyebrows rise almost into his matching hairline. “What does that even _mean,_ Maes?”

 _Now_ he chooses to look uncomfortable. “Look, Roy. You know how I feel about Edward. I’m practically his _father,_ you know?” He looks up with an annoyingly _caring_ expression, but Roy is having none of it.

“I didn’t, actually.”

Maes is still looking at him with that fatherly expression that Roy hates because (A) Maes has _one_ child, and it’s a little girl at that, and (B) when has Roy Mustang _ever_ shown himself unappreciative of Edward Elric?

“Just make sure Ed knows it, then, okay?”

Roy is still (frustratingly) blank on a decent retort. But Maes doesn’t seem to care; his expression bounces back to its normal cheerfulness, and he salutes again. “Keep up the good work, Roy!”

“Wait-we’re not done yet!” Roy calls after him, but his irritating manager has already skipped out and closed the door behind him.

Roy doesn’t bother to get up and give chase, instead, he leans back and steeples his fingers. Gone for most of the day and then the next…he sighs. Glancing down at his desk, his eye catches the neatly printed schedule Ed has made for him this week.

He picks it up off the desk and thumbs through the pages, forehead still wrinkled. Of course Ed is appreciated. He has to know that. And he _has_ to know that Roy would well and truly be helpless without him with as much as he enjoys capitalising on it.

He folds a corner of the paper back and forth, handsome mouth still stuck in a frown.

-=-=-=-=-

Ed has learned two things in the two hours this morning has brought him.

One: there is a serious need for a more efficient organisation system in the mail pile. The Basket is scary, unnecessary, and doesn’t even match the rest of the furniture.

Second: Russel Tringham is a fucking _prick._

His younger brother isn’t so bad. Ed gave him the entire kitchen tour and he seemed to understand everything. Even the mysteries of the ancient coffee pot, which is enough to confuse anyone. But three steps into the hallway and something in Russel’s internal Bullshit Withholding mechanism seems to get a permanent snag, and he halts in his tracks to look at Ed with a sniff.

Nobody who doesn’t have a fuckin’ cold _sniffs_ at Edward Elric.

“Okay, yeah, we’re interns. We get it.” His voice is flat, accompanied by the waving of his hand. “When do we start doing, like, important stuff?”

Ed briefly thought to how much time he spent bringing Roy coffee, and wondered what Russel classified as ‘an important job’. Surely bringing his boss caffeine didn’t constitute something that important, and yet Ed would never hand it over to some intern.

 _Especially_ not an intern like Russel Tringham.

“You’re already doing ‘important stuff’,” he answers, pleasantly enough.

Russel scowls, but Fletcher looks genuinely interested. So Ed decides to be mature (read: thinly veiled pettiness) and turned to him. “You. Whaddyou want to do here?”

Fletcher blinks, obviously surprised by the question. “Umm…what is there to do?”

Ed sighs, thinks of Al’s expression when his first original chemical equation came through. It was a fair question.

“Well, for new interns, you get a lot of basic jobs. Coffee-getters, schedule-grabbers,” he lists them off his fingers, “you help with supplies for shoots; that sort of stuff.”

“That’s _all_?” Russel asks, or rather, demands.

Ed wonders _what_ college had been prepping kids for internships like this: not prepping them at all. But Ed has been here too long and dealt with too many people to do less than persevere.

“When you’re been here _awhile,_ you’ll get more detailed jobs. Um…helping Kain upstairs with the media, sending emails to other agencies interested in working with us, even helping with the model’s wardrobe.” He flicks his eyes back and forth between the two new interns. “Got that?”

“Yes,” Fletcher says.

“Isn’t the only famous model here Roy Mustang?”  Russel said simultaneously.

Ed can practically _feel_ Mustang laughing upstairs; it’s a special sense he has. He clicks his teeth together and meets Russel’s gaze. “No, he isn’t,” he responds, then moves towards the elevator. There is a moment’s pause, and then two heavy sets of footsteps following behind him.

Ed draws in a breath, and the elevator goes _ding!_

-=-=-=-=-

“This is the floor I work on,” Ed continues on, trying to keep his voice cheerful instead of defaulting to Bored Tour Guide.

Fletcher follows behind him, but Russel seems determined to stay either directly at Ed’s side or slightly ahead. Probably for the best; Ed isn’t a fan of the way he keeps peering into offices like that.

Kain’s office door is slightly ajar, and Ed pushes it open before Russel gets a chance. The short man is busily typing something at his computer, utterly lost to the outside world. It takes Ed clearing his throat several times before he finally looks up, taking in the two newcomers with a friendly smile. “Oh, Ed! Sorry, didn’t see you there.”

“Appar _ently_ ,” Russel mutters, emphasising the last syllables in just such a way that Ed wants to clock him. Kain is _delicate,_ okay, and he works damn hard for this business, and Ed will _not_ be seeing him get shit for it.

But Kain doesn’t seem bothered; he spins to face them in his chair and looks at Fletcher, then Russel. “You’re our two newest interns, right?”

Fletcher nods. “I know your names.” Kain chews his lip for a moment before pointing at Russel. “Fletcher, right?”

Russel shakes his head and jerks a thumb in his younger brother’s direction.

“Ah.” Kain smiles at Fletcher. “I had it backwards.”

“Kain is in charge of media here,” Ed explains, deeming it high time to get on with things. “You might even get to work with him in the near future on media.”

Fletcher looks around the office, face curling into a smile. “I like technology,” he says simply.

“Awesome,” Ed nods, and opens the door. “Couple more offices to go through.” As Fletcher and Russel file out, he tosses a salute to Kain. “Thanks, man.”

Kain must be tired from focussing on a screen for several hours like this, but he smiles brightly at Ed. Really, his patience is irritating. How can Ed steal some? Surely he won’t miss a _little_?

“No problem, Ed. Don’t kill anyone.”

Edward rolls his eyes as he shuts the door. “Doin’ my best.”

He shuts the door all the way for once; Kain deserves some peace and quiet. Then he pulls ahead of the Tringham brothers, who are currently busy _loitering_ in the hallway. How one loiters in a place like a hallway, Ed isn’t quite sure. But they are certainly accomplishing it.

“Alright!” He says, clapping his hands together. He tends to do that when he’s nervous, and it annoys Roy to no end. “Who wants to see Visual Merchandising?”

“Where are the photographers?” Russel asks, looking around them as if Havoc and Breda will suddenly pop out of nowhere.

“Probably out,” Ed considers, checking his phone. “It _is_ lunch break, after all.”

“Do we get lunch break?” Fletcher inquires in far too hopeful of a voice.

Ed holds up a finger. “One more office, then yes.”

He leads them to Roy’s office door, takes a breath, and opens it.

-=-=-=-=-

Roy has finally stopped wallowing in doubt and paper-crinkling, and is actually doing something productive when Ed comes in. The shorter blonde’s eyes still narrow, and he takes a slow two steps into the office as if he’s looking for a hidden mishap.

Russel and Fletcher seem bound by no such doubts, however, and they move forward with unrestrained interest. Roy gets up from his desk and moves around, and Ed is probably the only one here who can tell that he has his Surveying face on. He’s a little surprised by the sheer jump in his chest at the sight at all; maybe it’s just that after being exposed to _that_ all morning, even Roy Mustang feels like a godsend.

He wrinkles his nose.

“To whom do I owe the pleasure?” Roy inquires, smug bastard that he is, and he’s _shaking_ Russel’s fucking filthy hand and then Fletcher’s probably clean one, and Ed wants to turn right back around.

Then Roy looks at him, and there’s a hint of the sunniest smile hidden behind the cloud of Professionalism. “Edward.”

Ed nods, trying not to tingle everywhere with how stupidly _happy_ a simple gesture like that makes him. “Mustang. These’re our two newest interns.”

Roy looks at Fletcher and Russel, face breaking into a smile, albeit a much different one. “How fortunate for us.”

Fletcher looks pleased, but Russel has not stopped _looking_ since they entered the room, and it’s starting to annoy Ed just a little.

“I was showing them some of the offices,” he continues with a frankly herculean effort at complete calmness. “Yours is the last one.”

“How fortunate for _me,_ ” Roy grins, frighteningly white teeth pulling into a warm smile.

“Are you the most famous model here?” Fletcher asks. It’s delivered in a perfectly innocent tone, but Edward can visibly see Roy preening. With Russel and Fletcher safely in front of him, he rolls his eyes and smirks at Roy’s subsequent frown.

“I don’t know about _most_ famous,” he says, flicking his attention from Ed to the interns.

“But you’re pretty famous, right? We’ve seen you in a ton of places,” Russel sounds oddly eager, and Edward’s brain immediately begins clicking on the topic of _why._

Roy lifts a hand, graceful shoulders rolling back in a shrug. “Fairly so.”

Ed moves forward, setting his clipboard down on his desk and turning around. “You probably won’t be working _directly_ with Mustang,” he announces, trying not to glee at the way Russel’s expression falls just a smidgeon. “But you’ll be working _around_ him a lot.” Ah. The excited look is back. Damn.

“Looking forward to it, sir,” Fletcher says, and holds his hand out.

Ed stifles a small smile; it’s funny how Russel seems to be the smitten one, but Fletcher is handling himself much more gracefully. Roy shakes it and then turns to Russel’s hastily outstretched one, seemingly completely at ease. He turns to look at Ed as he lets go, as if Ed’s going to march over and offer _his_ hand, too.

A scoff escapes him, and he moves back towards the door. “Alright, I think it’s lunchtime. Thanks for the welcome, Mustang.”

“Yes, thank you,” Fletcher nods brightly.

“Thanks,” Russel says, hints of red staining the bones of his cheeks.

“You’re quite welcome,” Roy returns graciously, but his eyes are still fixed on Ed. They engage in a two second staring match that Ed does _not_ understand the reason for at all, but he doesn’t like the way his pulse ratchets up. So he opens the door and ushers out their two newest interns.

“I’ll be back later,” he says, directed at Roy. “Probably.”

“I perish in your absence,” his infuriating employer answers magnanimously, and then Ed is shutting the door before Roy can catch sight of how red Edward can _feel_ his ears are going.

Arms folded, he casts a golden glance back and forth between the newcomers, daring them to say anything.

They do not, and Ed huffs. “Well. Who wants sandwiches?”

-=-=-=-=-

“We’re still plannin’ to finish that project tomorrow, right?” Ed asks, curled up in one of the chairs with his laptop on his lap, clicking away. His agonisingly long day of demonstrating and leading the two new interns around like lost sheep has taken its toll. His reading glasses are back on, and Roy thinks for a moment that he looks heartbreakingly adorable.

 _I’m so glad you’ll be with me,_ he thinks.

“That is the intent, yes,” he says.

Ed nods, glancing up at him briefly, face darkening in a scowl. “Are you doing _anything_ right now, Mustang?”

Roy leans back, gesturing to his desk innocently. His own laptop sits nearby, screensaver bouncing back and forth aimlessly. “Of course I am, Edward. In fact, it’s arguable that I never _stopped_ doing work.”

Ed scoffs as he gets up, sauntering over to the desk, as if needing a visual confirmation. Frankly, Roy doesn’t blame him. He flicks through the papers scattered on his desk, brows furrowed in concentration. Roy watches him out of the corner of his eye, leaning back in his chair and yawning.

“When are we going to get the groceries?”

Ed turns to stare at him, now looking confused. “Can’t _you_ just buy the groceries? What do you need me for?”

 _Everything,_ Roy thinks. _I’m finding that I need you for everything and it terrifies me._

A shrug rolls off his shoulders like water. “It’ll go faster if we have two people. And besides, you’ll be partaking in most of the groceries, anyway. So it’s really only fair,” he notes, steepling his fingers.

Ed sighs, golden hair falling in his eyes as he bends his head, accepting defeat. Roy silently congratulates himself and straightens in his chair, ready to seriously work again.

“If we go,” Ed pokes a finger towards him, “We’re goin’ to that shitty grocery store that we went to last year.”

“The one with all the old people?”

“Yeah.”

Roy tilts his head, puzzled. “Is it your intent that I only be seen by the elderly?”

Ed folds his arms, shirt riding up just a little from the action. Roy forces himself not to look at it; to stay on Ed’s eyes instead. And they are a wonder in and of themselves, to be sure. “We don’t need any more _incidents,_ Mustang,” he reminds, voice full of intent.

Roy sighs, dark hair swept back by a few careless fingers. “I suppose you’re right. Fine, then. The store on the corners of Old and Invisible it is.”

Ed smiles a little _too_ sweetly as he goes to sit back down in his chair. “You won’t be invisible, Mustang. Just…unnoticed.”

“Oh, God, that’s even _worse,”_ Roy groans.

Ed’s grin shouldn’t look so wolfish, but it does.

-=-=-=-=-=-

Ed blinks up at the sliding doors of the grocery store, reaching up to tuck a strand of blonde hair back. Roy stands beside him, equally silent.

“What,” Ed inquires, “have we done?”

“Nothing good, it seems.” Roy squares his shoulders. “But it’s too late to turn back now.”

“I’d honestly rather be attacked by the paps than _this,_ ” Ed whines, and Roy feels for him to his bones. But, after all, it wasn’t like Roy hadn’t warned him.

Ed has the cart (he _insisted_ on being the one to push it; he was more than tall enough to see over the top, _thank you, Mustang)_ and his golden eyes are like sunshiney saucers as they take in what’s happening.

The whole store is practically desolate. The problem isn’t _people._ There’s a large sign on the front window that reads **Fresh Out of Cheetos-Try Our Cheesy Tricks Instead!**

“They won’t fool me with their tricks,” Ed says darkly, pushing the cart like it’s a battering ram.

“Was that a pun?” Roy follows behind him, trying not to laugh as he covers it with his hand. Maybe he can convince Ed to find a different snack for once; the Cheetos definitely aren’t doing anything for his health, no matter how much Ed’s heathen taste buds appreciate them. “I’m sure the ‘Cheesy tricks’ will make a comparable substitute.”

Ed rolls his eyes, looking at him like he’s lost his mind. “I’m not eatin’ them for the _health benefits,_ Mustang. I know what Cheetos are.”

Roy’s nose wrinkles in distaste. He’s had discussions with Ed before about his taste in food, to which Ed replied by throwing a Cheeto at him. It had taken him several washings to get the last of the suspiciously-orange powder off of his shirt, and he doesn’t care to repeat the experience.

They’re on the third aisle now, Ed’s bright eyes scanning the snack options like you’d watch a dangerous test tube. Roy can’t tell if he’s still upset about the Cheetos, and for his own safety decides not to ask.

As for himself, he spots a box of flavoured pita chips and places it in the cart. Ed looks at it with an odd sort of curiosity. “You ever gotten these before?” He jerks his head in the direction of the innocent bag.

Roy shakes his head. “Maes told me that he likes them.”

Ed’s face stretches into a grin, and he pushes the cart forward again, apparently still undecided. “Y’know, why wasn’t _Maes_ ever your PA?” The _why is it_ me? Of his question sits strongly in the air.

Roy shrugs, narrowly avoiding a collision with an unattended samples tray he hadn’t noticed before. Ed fishes a hand in and pulls out some kind of cheese, chewing on it as he turns to Roy expectantly.

“By the time I would have thought of it, Maes was already moved up. Besides, he really functions better as my agent. I think he’d go crazy if he had all the minute jobs you so willingly fulfil.” The last part is with a sly grin that he tosses at Ed like a volleyball.

Ed connects, receives, spikes back. “Y’know how lucky you were to get anyone at _all_ who puts up with your shit? You should count your blessings every day.”

 _Oh, I do,_ Roy thinks.

Ed finally picks a box of Triscuits, which Roy finds supremely surprising. “That’s very…healthy of you.”

Ed scowls, braid flicking over his shoulder. “I eat healthy stuff, _too._ ”

Roy just smiles, walking next to him as they head towards the drink aisle.

“I’m gonna drink a fuckton of soda tomorrow,” Ed remarks contentedly.

Roy makes a face at him. “Could you _please_ find just _one_ thing that’s at least somewhat good for you?”

Ed glances around, then picks up a bag of candied mango slices. He grins up at Roy. “Fruit, right?”

“Something like a _smoothie,_ or _beef jerky,_ or _milk-_ “

“No.” Ed nearly folds his arms, then remembers that he still has control of the cart. “No milk. You know this.”

“Of course,” Roy sighs.

“But I _did_ like the beef jerky suggestion,” Ed continues brightly, pausing to look for the aisle descriptions. “Then I’ll have _two_ healthy things.”

“Whoever said beef jerky was healthy for you? You’re not Ron Swanson, and you’re certainly not going into the wild any time soon, as far as I know. Beef jerky is…” Roy tries to be delicate. “Hard to savour.”

Ed begins moving again so fast that Roy has to trot to keep up with him. He thinks briefly that it’s really a very good thing that this store is so bereft of customers.

“Beef jerky is for consuming _time_ as much as anythin’ else,” Ed replies staunchly. He grabs a bag of Original jerky, comparing the ingredients on the back to that of the Southern Spice jerky. “So of course you gotta chew it.”

Roy doesn’t think this makes logical sense at all, but he _also_ knows that Edward’s brain is a vast, mysterious thing, and he’s usually right. Not that Roy would ever tell him that.

“How are you liking the new intern, by the way?” He inquires, changing the subject.

Ed looks up at him, head tilted momentarily before he remembers. “Y’mean Russel? You know there are _two_ new ones, right?”

Roy nods. "Right. There's the brother."

"Russel," Ed clarifies, secretly somewhat pleased that the impatient young man was so easily forgotten. He really is a terrible person.

“You seemed slightly…” Roy chooses his words delicately. “Put out…when you came back into our office today. Was that the reason?” _I was afraid it was me._

Ed shrugs, finally choosing the Original and dropping it in the cart. “He just seemed _put out_ the whole time. Like…” he waves a hand, “like me showing him around wasn’t even worth his time, or somethin’.”

Roy frowns. Why should Ed ever be around those kinds of people? Especially when there were citizens everywhere who appreciated him so much more?

He voiced the question in slightly different words. “Why were you saddled with that responsibility?”

“It was Riza’s idea,” Edward moves down the frozen section, though Roy doesn’t know why, since they have no form of refrigeration in the office. “She thought it would help ease him in. Ease _both_ of them in, actually. You know we haven’t gotten new interns in a while.”

“Not since Kain,” Roy nods, remembering.

“Yeah. And I mean, Russel’s a _pissbaby,_ sure, but Fletcher isn’t bad, and I won’t have to be around them all that much. ‘Sides,” Ed flashes him a slightly wolfish grin. “They’ll be bringing _me_ coffee to drink, and we’ll get to watch them run all over creation. I can handle a little backchat if it means that.”

“You seem awfully unsympathetic,” Roy comments mildly, though Ed’s amusement is worth all the interns in the world.

“Screw unsympathetic,” Ed retorts. “People who have worked as long as, like, _Maes_ deserve sympathy. They’ll be alright.”

“I’m sure you would know,” Roy murmurs, following him to the drinks aisle.

The thing about _sympathy,_ and one that Roy understands quite well, is that Ed always feels more than he lets on. He’s probably being entirely truthful that he isn’t sorry for their newest batch of interns, but Ed isn’t heartless. He’ll hang around, whether the new intern is a douchebag or not.

He doesn’t know when the smile situated itself on his face, but Ed at least hasn’t seemed to have noticed. He’s eyeing a bottle of blood-orange soda like it’s a potential friend or foe.

Roy comes to stand next to him, one hand still resting lightly on the cart. “Trouble making a decision?”

“Never seen this one before,” Ed points to the drink in question.

Roy leans in to take a closer look, and for a moment they’re cheek-to-cheek, almost touching.

But not quite.

Ed draws away, faint redness tinging his cheekbones. He stands next to the cart, eyeing their cargo dubiously.

Roy deposits a bottle of Orange Evil Incarnate. “What?”

“Thought we’d have more in here.” Ed runs his fingers through his ponytail. A part of Roy sinks low with longing, and it isn’t for the snacks in their cart.

“Well…what else do you want” Roy is honestly perfectly content with his box of crackers and choice of company, but Ed still seems dissatisfied.

“Dunno yet,” he shrugs with frustrating calm.

Roy sighs. “Should we just explore the whole store, then?”

Edward’s eyes, golden brown and flickering, light up. He takes control of the cart and begins moving towards aisle 10. “Great idea!”

“That was a _joke,_ ” Roy huffs, following behind him. “This is inefficient.”

“In…a fish…” Ed mumbles to himself, head jerking up as a thought comes to him. “ _Goldfish,”_ he says.

Roy stares, left to follow hopelessly behind him, scolding Ed on his frankly hazardous manoeuvring skills.

They bicker back and forth about almost everything, actually. The pricing of food, the slowness of the line, even the level of carbonation in Ed’s soda.

People sometimes worry about that dynamic of their relationship; how much they argue. But the ones who know them know better. Ed’s brain never slows down, never stops in its vicious cycle in processing. The fact that he’s taking _time_ to retort, to speak out loud instead of keeping all his brilliant thoughts to himself, means that he’s interested. And even better, Roy frequently thinks, when he’s happy. Or at least doing okay. A quiet Ed is a dangerous one. Like a curtain pulled over a furnace, or a lightning storm hidden behind clouds.

But that doesn’t mean there aren’t moments of quiet. Like after they’d _finally_ paid and Ed is driving them back. Neither of them have spoken since they got in, although the crinkling of their plastic bags every time they make a turn is a melody in itself.

Ed tries (and usually succeeds) in keeping his eyes on the road. At some point Roy had leaned his head back to rest, planes of light from the street outside casting strange shapes on his handsome face.

 _Handsome_ , Ed thinks again stubbornly. There isn’t anything embarrassing in thinking what was objectively true. Everyone knows it, especially Roy himself. And it certainly helps with keeping other, more subjective words out of his vocabulary. Ones like _beautiful_ and _caring_ and _soft._ The night does strange things to people, not the least of them the way it turns the sharp lines of cheekbones and eyes and nose into something smokier, softer.

Ed realises he’s sneaking a stare again as the light above him glows red, and turns back to the road guiltily. But Roy really is a much more pleasant view than endless asphalt glimmering in various shades of black.

At some point they’re turning into the studio’s parking lot. Ed turns the car off and flicks Roy on the nose, relishing his startled snort.

Roy sits up and sees Ed smirking at him. “Up and at ‘em, sleeping beauty.”

Roy scowls at him, but with the crease in his cheek from the seatbelt and his back very comfortable from the seat-warmer, he knows he’s not in the position to be picking a fight. So he does the noble thing and gets out without comment. Ed hauls the two bags of groceries out and hands one to Roy, locking the car behind them and heading towards the doors.

“Won’t they be locked at this hour?” Roy inquires, his free hand tucked in the relative warmth of his pocket.

“Yep.” Ed searches through his key ring (when did he get _that?_ Roy wonders) until he finds the right one, and unlocks the door. A shrill, annoying beep begins almost immediately, and Ed sighs as if horribly inconvenienced while he types in a series of numbers into the key pad next to the door.

“I didn’t even know we _had_ that,” Roy admits, stepping closer to him, genuinely impressed.

Ed smirked as the bothersome alarm stops going, bags crinkling in his hand when he pushes the elevator button. Roy takes the split second to realise that there are a great many things he doesn’t know about this building.

“Well, t’be fair, ‘s not that old. We got it, like, eight months ago?” The door slides open with a _ding!_ And Ed steps through. He laughs at Roy’s horrifying expression; it’s like soda in Roy’s gut.

“ _Eight months_?” He manages, leaning against the wall of the elevator. His eyes roll heavenward, as if they’re supposed to give him some sort of answer.

Ed watches him, golden eyes flickering with an amused sort of interest. They glance (guilty, guilty) to the exposed curve of Roy’s neck as he looks upwards, then sliding a little too lovingly over plush lips, glowing ever so softly in the elevator light.

Ed swallows, and looks at the bag in his hand. Suddenly it feels ten pounds heavier.

The door slides open, alerting them to their arrival, and Ed hurries out. They hadn’t strictly _told_ anyone about the mini-fridge in the closet Roy had installed a few months ago, but Maes knew, and Riza _probably_ knew. That was really enough, Ed considers, as he kicks open the door and flicks on the lights.

Roy follows behind, a little more slowly, and Ed kneels to unload the food in need of refrigeration.

“Yo, Mustang,” he tosses over his shoulder. “Got anything that needs to go in here?”

Roy, who’s been shuffling through the papers on his desk in search of something, glances up a little blearily. “Ah, yes,” he says, which just means, _Oh, uh, er, gimme a sec here._ He glances through his bag, and shakes his head, dark hair falling in his eyes. “I think they put it all in yours.”

“Great.” Ed stands back up, reaching for Roy’s bag. “Just gotta put this stuff on the shelf and you’re free.”

Roy gives him an odd look as Ed reaches to his tiptoes, carefully putting the boxes on the shelf. His face rubs against a shirt or two accidentally as he stretches, and Roy feels singularly useless.

“Do you need any help with those?” He ventures, sitting on the edge of his desk like a grade schooler.

Ed’s face flushes red, and he leans even further up on his tiptoes almost vengefully. “Nope. Got this one. And all the ones. Every single shelf.” At the last sentence, he turns, as if expecting Roy to disagree with him.

Roy would be well within the bounds of logic to do so. There are three shelves, and Ed can barely reach the first one as it is. The other two would have him floundering, or secreting the use of a chair.

However, Roy _also_ knows that logic is not always the best tactic to use with one Edward Elric. So he says nothing, and waits patiently for Ed to finish shelving their food for tomorrow.

When his arguably-vertically-challenged PA finally steps back, satisfied, Ed shuts the closet door and turns around. “So, now that we’re prepped for tomorrow night, get a good sleep and be ready for some action.”

Standing like this, they’re almost painfully close, and Roy hates the way his chest tightens at the realisation. It’s really not _fair,_ but then again, nothing about Edward Elric is fair. He’s simultaneously one of the most observant and the most dense people Roy knows, and this context is probably no exception.

Unless, he considers, Edward _isn’t_ being dense, and is instead trying to be kind for his sake. You know, _put him down gently._ Roy scowls, and Ed frowns at him.

“Okay, look, I know the shelving isn’t the most organised it could be, but we can both _get_ to it.”

Roy jerks himself out of his thoughts and smiles down at him, moving away with a wave of his hand. “It’s no trouble at all. Thank you for taking care of it.”

Edward still looks suspicious, but Roy is suddenly too nervous to turn around for fear of his (no doubt) groundless fears being obvious. But that’s ridiculous; he’s spent years perfecting a neutral face. If Edward hasn’t noticed it before now, he certainly won’t now.

Nevertheless. He doesn’t turn around. “I’ll see you tomorrow, then?”

Ed’s head tilts slightly to one side, golden eyes glimmering with veiled confusion. Roy can’t be _that_ cut up about his beloved closet being used as a storage unit; they’ve used it as that before. But he’s not usually so _reticent_ to look at him, and certainly not to inspect what’s been done.

He tries to chalk it up to tiredness, and powers his computer off. “Turn off the lights when you’re done,” he calls over his shoulder, and heads toward the door.

“Of course,” Roy says, voice a murmur as he seems to be investigating something lost in the papers on his desk. His mind flits back to his conversation with Maes earlier, and his mouth sets itself in a stubborn line. Of course he appreciates Edward Elric. No one else even comes close to him. 

Ed shuts the door behind him, and then there is only the sound of fading footsteps in a building that is suddenly far, far too empty.

-=-=-=-=-

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pretend this is a grocery store that puts up signs of what it's out of. Preserve my dying continuity.


	3. Starts With a Glimpse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ed clenches his fists as if to find some courage in that resulting tightness, and…  
> Looks down at himself where he has just collapsed his paper cup and spilled water all over his jeans.   
> “Oh, fuck,” he says, because naturally.

_"It starts with a glimpse, a shimmer, a shadow,_

_Or something I had once..._

_But since lost and now I,_

_I've got a feeling that I'm not complete anymore."_

-Fixin', Walk the Moon

-=-=-=-=-

Ed will be the first to admit: today has been a _shit long_ one. Even Mustang’s whining would feel justified, if he was there to do it. The management from Aerugo is very _nice,_ sure, but like all employees in a fashion industry, they’re mandatorily high-maintenance. Point is, Ed has had a day. A good _two_ days, if you count yesterday when he was trapped with Russel and Fletcher for the majority of it. He’d finally crawled back into he and Roy’s own space and nearly collapsed on his desk and cried. But then Roy would ask him what was wrong, and probably take pictures of him, and that kind of emotional release just wasn’t really worth the price.

As the elevator carries him up, he pulls out his phone to thumb through for new texts, then encounters he and Al’s discussion from earlier.

_Yo Al is it ok if I eat dinner w/ you tonight?_

Ed not-so-secretly loves how quickly Al always gets back to him. He was probably on his break in the middle of classes for lunch, but he spent it on Ed. It almost makes Ed a little mad sometimes how fucking _nice_ Al is.

_Of course it is, brother! Do you want me to make your favourite?_

_You don’t have to_

_I get off classes at 3:00 today; that’s more than enough time._

_If you’re sure_

_Of course I am! I can’t wait to see you!_

_Yeah yeah, don’t make a mess_

_You’re not one to talk, brother._

_Eat ur fucking lunch_

That had been all, but Ed knows he got the message. The elevator goes _ding!,_ he clicks his phone off, slides it back into his pocket, then makes his way back to their office. The door is closed, and for once, Ed can’t muster a single complaint. He opens it just enough to slip through, then closes it tightly again with a sigh.

“Long day?” Roy inquires, hanging up a jacket in his closet. He reaches down to the mini fridge below and pulls out a water bottle, tossing it to Ed. Blonde ponytail swinging, Edward catches it out of the air and straightway chugs half of it. He feels much better now, but downs the rest of the thing anyway because hell, it’s _cold_ and there’s no point wasting it.

As he crumples it and then throws it in the waste bin, he catches Roy staring with an expression halfway between amusement and concern. “That bad, huh?”

Ed slings himself into his desk chair, huffing out a sigh. “You got no idea.”

Roy’s mouth quirks upwards slightly, and for once Ed’s brain is too tired to stop the observation of how cute it looks. Roy is cute all over, really. ‘S fucking annoying.

“What’s annoying?”

Ed blinks. Oh, man, he must be tired if he’s starting to say stuff out loud without noticing. “Uh, the amount of time I have to spend with people I barely know for something that’s not even really my, uh,” he licks his lips. “My area of expertise.”

Roy doesn’t look convinced, a dark lock of hair falling in his eyes only to be tucked back. “I missed getting my coffee today,” he says, instead of whatever more serious thing he was obviously thinking. Ed is so grateful he could nearly cry, which says nothing for his deteriorating mental state.

“Yeah, figures it’d be too much _effort_ t’go get it yourself,” Ed retorts sourly, to make up for those weird fuzzy feelings going on in there.

Roy doesn’t look offended. “You have no idea how much paperwork I’ve been faced with today.” He holds up a stack as if to prove his innocence. “Just because I wasn’t working directly with management because it’s not,” he quirks a brow, “’my area of expertise’, doesn’t mean I wasn’t doing any work.”

“Nobody said you weren’t,” Ed huffs, unlocking his computer and scrolling through his email. Riza, Riza, Kain, a couple people he doesn’t know. One day he’d like to hear all of the creative ways people he doesn’t know come across his email address. Sighing in relief, he locks it back up, plugs his laptop in to charge and collects his messenger bag from where it’s been patiently hanging on his chair.

“Leaving?” Roy inquires, because Roy is a god of observation.

“Yep,” Ed responds, placidly enough. “Gonna go eat at Al’s tonight.”

The excitement he feels must come across in his voice, because Roy smiles at him a little, looking down to finish organising his papers for the day. “I do hope you enjoy yourself.”

It’s a pretty simple thing to say, but Ed still squints at it. Metaphorically. Maybe it’s just because Roy’s looking down and there’s no need to shout, but his voice comes across as softer when he says the words. A little gentler.

_Like he means it,_ Ed thinks.

Well then. “Thanks,” he offers back.

A beat of silence.

“What’re you gonna do, then?” He folds his arms, then unfolds them. Friendly casualness is key.

Roy looks up at him, blinking slowly in the dying light. He looks like a cat that would rather be sleeping than anything else, which could answer Ed’s question in and of itself, really.

“Ah,” he says, and Ed stops fiddling with his bag to look at him.

Another beat of silence; Roy’s head has dropped back down again and Ed is losing a fight with an invisible force called Being Nice. He _told_ Al it was contagious, he told him, he told him-

“Uh…” words are hard and they are stupid. “You wanna…eat with Al’n me?” His fingers start pulling at the straps of his bag almost subconsciously again, as if they cannot stand to have nothing to do.

“What?” Roy is looking at him like he’s just been diagnosed as clinically insane. Just wait, Mustang. Just wait. His head tilts to the side ever so slightly, and _damn_ it’s endearing and _fuck_ if Ed isn’t pissed off about it.

“Do you,” Ed tries again, more slowly, “want to eat dinner. With Al an’ me.”

Roy is quiet for another moment. “It’s ‘Al and I.’”

Ed scowls, slinging his bag over his shoulder as he finally decides he’s done, and heads towards the door. “Whatever, Mustang, don’t say I didn’t try.”

He’s halfway out the door when he hears the sound of a heavy form lurching forward, Roy’s voice holding him back. “Wait!”

He doesn’t turn around, but Ed pauses, hand still resting on the door handle.

He hears Roy walk towards him; the shadow peeking between Ed’s legs and into the hallway beyond. His employer coughs, and his voice is steady and quiet when it comes out. “I would love to have dinner with you and Alphons. If it won’t be inconvenient to him.”

Ed turns around, slowly, and looks at him sharply. But there isn’t a hint of humour or arrogance in Mustang’s face; it’s all frustrating openness and a bone-deep tiredness that Ed understands far better than he wants to.

There’s a moment of quiet between them, Ed’s brain moving at a hundred miles a second as he considers. It isn’t until he sees the bob of Roy’s throat as he swallows that he snaps out of it, realising that he’s staring again.

But here’s the thing here: Roy’s been staring back.

And Ed’s not quite sure what to do with that.

He whips back around and marches down the hallway, pulling out his phone. He hears the _click!_ Of the door as Roy shuts it, and then footsteps following from behind him. He smiles to himself, pulling up Al’s contact and shooting him a text.

_Hey so is it okay if Roy comes too?_

A few people are still working in their offices, and a few of them offer Ed a ‘Goodnight’ or a friendly wave as he passes by. Ed smiles back, but his attention’s on his phone now and he nearly crashes into the elevator door as a result.

“Here, let me-“ Roy reaches forward and presses the button, his arm brushing Ed’s shoulder in the process. It sends electricity in its purest staticky form up Ed’s neck and face, and he steps into the elevator’s farthest corner without comment. Roy presses the 1 button and then steps back, a little in front of Ed and oddly quiet.

The view from here gives Ed a prime look at Roy’s ass, which would make him feel guilty and kind of pervy if it weren’t for the fact that he’s still feeling the effects of Roy’s touch earlier. And this a satisfying, if petty, sort of revenge.

His phone beeps with Al’s special alert sound, and Ed instantly glances down to view it.

_That’s totally fine, brother. I’m just glad I made double._

Ed smiles, tongue clenched between his teeth as he types back.

_Ok great, thanks so much_

The reply is quick this time.

_See you both soon!_

Ed slides his phone away once again, and follows Mustang off the elevator. Roy waits for him at the doorway as Ed checks the mail pile, and then takes the lead.

“Are we taking your car?” Mustang inquires, hands casually resting in his pockets as he catches up to walk in-step with Ed.

“Yeah, but if you’re worried about your own bein’ left here all night, I can bring you back after dinner and you can drive yourself home,” Ed responds, swinging his key ring around his pointer finger and listening to it jingle.

“You don’t have to,” Roy says. “I can always take a cab.”

Ed shrugs, locating his car in the midst of the parking garage. “Nah, it’s fine. No need to pay when I can just bring you. And it’s not that late.”

Roy checks his wristwatch in the dim light, the one he _refuses_ to give up even if he has a perfectly functioning phone in his pocket. “It’s 6:13,” he announces, then relents. “As long as you’re not being inconvenienced.”

Ed opens the driver’s door and hops in, listening to the comforting hum of the engine as it starts up. He tosses a smile at Roy that blazes through any doubts that previously existed. “Not this time.”

“I take offense to that,” Roy says loftily, most to stave off the thudding of his heartbeat. “I am never an inconvenience.”

Ed just rolls his eyes and they pull out of the parking lot, lights flickering off the glossy lines of the car. Roy steals a glance to the side as they get onto the highway, noting the way Ed’s face has smoothed out, golden eyes relaxed as he focusses on the road ahead. He looks…at ease. There is really no better phrase for it, and Roy briefly wonders if he has never noticed what peace Ed gets out of driving. Maybe it just gives all that restless energy something to focuss on; those twitchy hands can still on the steering wheel.

He looks again when they stop at a red light, the bright iridescence of it turning Edward’s golden hair to something coppery orange. He hastily flicks his gaze away when Ed’s head turns, and he can feel those eyes on him, even if neither of them are acknowledging it.

The drive is mostly silent to Al’s apartment, but most drives between them are. Maybe that’s another reason Ed finds peace in them; it’s a time where both Ed and Roy are shielded from the bustling noisiness of the work day. They can both just relax a little, because there has always been the silent understanding that conversation has never been totally _necessary_ when they’re like this. Roy loves people, loves the way they adore him, the energy and excitement of a crowd, but this is something almost sacred. Special, if you will.

Al’s apartment is a little different than what Roy was expecting; it’s beyond a little semi-wooded area where the building seems to be slightly shielded. It is neither as large nor as fancy as the ones you’d find on a Travel to New York brochure, but as he takes a look around while heading to the elevator with Ed, he’ll readily admit it’s nothing to scoff at. Ed stays in the corner of the elevator, like he always does, arms folded as he watches the light rest on each floor they reach. He leads the way when it opens on the sixth floor, rapping knuckles on door _613._

“Al!” He calls, seemingly oblivious to the fact that there might be _other_ people on this floor; ones that are (or _were_ ) enjoying a quiet night in.

Al seems to recognise this, however; he opens the door and practically pulls Ed in by his arm, cheerful face reproachful. “Brother, don’t shout. I’m not the only one here, you know.”

Roy decides he likes him. And he truly hopes that that reproachful face is never turned on _him;_ it’d be enough to make greater men crumble.

Edward Elric is definitely not a ‘touchy’ person. Roy knows the type well, even knows a few of them, (Maes succumbed to the label long ago) and Ed is definitely _not_ one of them. But yet, as he stands slightly behind Ed and watches Al lock the door, Ed pulls him into a hug as warmly as if he did this every day of his life. Roy wonders briefly how long it’s been since they’ve actually spent time with each other, and swallows.

Al smiles at Ed briefly as he draws away from the hug, and then fixes his eyes, that same bright shade of golden brown, on Roy. He holds out his hand to shake, and Roy is surprised (but pleased) at his firm grip. Far too many people in his line of work have flabby, weak handshakes, and he hates feeling like he could break a hand just shaking it.

But no such weakness seems to exist in Al. “You must be Mr. Mustang.” His voice is just as bright as his eyes, but Roy senses that there’s something there, underneath that cheerful exterior. He can’t put his finger on it in the two minutes they’ve known each other, but it’s definitely there.

“Call me Roy, please,” he replies warmly, shaking back.

Al nods, smiling at him and then at Ed again. “Dinner’s all ready, if you want to come in and eat now.”

“Aw, _fuck_ yeah,” Ed breathes, and races into the kitchen at a frankly frightening speed.

Al and Roy follow behind at a slightly slower pace, and Al takes the time to look at him again. He’s a little bit shorter than Roy, but a little bit taller than Ed. Roy muses that this _has_ to drive his older brother crazy.

“Ed told me you have a shoot tomorrow, is that right?”

Roy nods, dark eyes fixing on him. He’s gotten the chance to see Al’s apartment a little better, and is again interested by its appearance. It’s extremely neat, though he may have cleaned up when he heard that Ed was bringing a guest, and the colours are all soft shades of blue and grey. It’s much more muted than Ed’s firecracker _reds_ and deep _black,_ but the brothers both include accents of that soft gold colour in what they’ve created. Roy can see it in the handles of the doors, the faintly golden shine of the wood in the tables and chairs here at Al’s. He sees those traces as much as he can see it in the gold stylus and little threads of it in the pillow Ed bought for the couch they both use in their office at Amestris. He thought at first it was just Ed showing a little of the frivolous; (didn’t _everyone_ in the fashion industry have a little of that in them?) but apparently it’s just a common ingrained theme. He smiles a little with the way the brothers mirror each other.

“That’s right,” he says, in answer to Al’s question. “Ed will be there, too, of course.”

Al sets a pitcher full of ice water on the kitchen table, and dips his head in acknowledgment. “Well, I wish you both good luck tomorrow, then.”

Roy’s mouth opens to make a reply, but Ed is already at the kitchen table, and has practically slumped across it. “Alllll,” he moans, voice pathetic. “’M _starving._ ”

Al laughs good-naturedly. “Alright, alright, I’m getting it, brother. Please sit down, Mr.-“ he catches himself, and rephrases. “Roy.”

Roy nods and pulls out the chair across from Ed, glancing around the little kitchen space. “Is there anything I can assist with?” He asks politely.

Al, drawing out a steaming dish of _something_ from the oven, shakes his head. “Once this is plated I’m done, but thanks.”

Roy inclines his head and turns his attention back to the miserable looking Ed, now something like a rabid dog as the smell from the dish hits his nose. Roy sniffs the air inquiringly. “Potatoes…?”

“Tater tot casserole,” Ed says, like it is something out of a dream instead of a very basic comfort food. Roy smiles, ignoring the part inside of him that is wailing, _The calories, the calories!_ Fuck it; he can handle a _tater tot casserole_ for one night. He folds his hands on top of the table and awaits his fate (dinner).

“I didn’t peg you for a casserole kind of person,” Roy says mildly, because that sounds better than, _“Is anything at all you like healthy in nature?”_

“Mm, brother and I grew up in Pennsylvania, you know.” Al shrugs, serving out portions on navy blue plates. Roy thinks idly of how well it goes with Ed’s red button-up shirt, then gives a blank look directed at Ed.

Al blinks, slightly embarrassed. “Oh. You didn’t.”

Ed, for a moment, seems less interested in the food than he is in the conversation. “Didn’t really seem important,” he mutters, chin resting on top of his arms on the table.

Roy raises his eyebrows at him. “We’ve known each other for almost two years, Ed.”

“Yeah, and we had _other stuff_ to talk about,” Ed defends.

Al serves them their food, and then they’re all sitting down. Roy unfolds his napkin and politely looks down at the potato monstrosity in front of him. He takes a forkful, puts it in his mouth, and winces. Hot. _Too hot._ He should have let it cool down.

This, however, does not seem to be stopping Ed. He takes a huge forkful in front of Roy’s eyes, blows on it in one huge breath, and then sticks the whole thing in his mouth. Roy doesn’t know whether to be impressed or concerned, but Al doesn’t seem to be finding anything out of the ordinary.

“Well, since brother didn’t before, I’m sure he won’t mind if I tell you.” Al has one careful forkful of casserole on his fork, letting it cool down mid-air before taking a bite.

Ed’s mouth is too full for him to make a response, but the look he gives Al is _warning_ at best and _deadly_ at worst.

Al seems unthreatened, and he turns his attention to Roy. “We grew up in Johnstown, Pennsylvania.”

Roy raises his eyebrows again. He isn’t sure what to say, but it seems Al isn’t expecting a response from him anyway.

“We did pretty well, or at least for a family from that area.” His voice is completely honest, but there’s no bitterness in it. Ed, on the other hand, is sulkily swallowing his tater tot casserole like it’s the only thing keeping him grounded.

“But our dad left when we were pretty young, so we only had one real source of income.” Al’s voice drops, something like _regret_ in his tones.

“Dad fucked off when I was twelve,” Ed breaks in, voice low and bitter, even after all this time. Roy looks at him curiously. “Mom worked super hard, but it completely wore her down. She got pneumonia, and it wasn’t like we had the extra cash lying around to afford a doctor.”

His fingers are tight around the silver of his fork, and Roy doesn’t fail to notice it. Al takes over, voice quiet, but soothing after the harshness of memory in Ed’s. “One of our neighbours, who basically became our surrogate grandmother, helped us out a lot. The night that mom died…Ed ran from door to door in our neighbourhood, begging for someone to come help.” He looks down at his plate, bright eyes slightly dimmed. “When he got to one, the door finally opened up and granny Pinako stepped outside it.”

“She helped us get through the worst of it,” Ed continues. Roy has to marvel in some amusement at how they bounce off of each other like this. “Helped us through school, getting scholarships, shit like that. We wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for her.”

“And when I got here,” Al spreads an arm to indicate _New York,_ probably more specifically _Cooper Union, “_ the Rockbell family treated me like one of their own kids.”

“One of their daughters is Al’s classmate,” Ed continues, smile suddenly turning a little sly.

Al rolls his eyes, and continues bravely onwards. Ed has completely shovelled through his casserole and is now eyeing the leftovers on Roy’s plate. He hands it over and hopes that Al won’t be offended. “We owe a lot to a lot of people,” he finishes quietly.

“That’s amazing,” Roy says honestly, at a loss for anything more descriptive or graceful. He’d always _known_ Ed would go to any lengths within reason to get something he wanted, but _really._ It must have been cultivated through years of desperate knowledge that their only hope out of a place like Johnstown was through scholarships. And they both must have done pretty well indeed, perhaps with the help of ‘granny Pinako’, to get into places like _New York_ and _Cooper Union._

“So what about you?” Al lifts one of the last few forkfuls of food to his mouth, curious eyes fixed on Roy. “What brought _you_ to New York?”

Roy takes a moment to swallow his food, prongs of his fork creating tiny _plink! Plink!_ Sounds on the plate. “I’ve basically lived in different parts of New York my whole life, really.” Al and Ed are looking at him so expectantly; he’s not sure why he feels reticent to share this. “My father died when I was, mm, six or so, I think. But my mother was very much involved in several different design companies. She was an excellent seamstress and had a great eye, especially for women’s fashion.” He smiles a little into his glass as he takes a drink of water. “As a result, I grew up around quite a lot of women.” He can’t be sure, but he thinks he sees Ed scowling faintly around his last huge mouthful of tater tot evil.

“I can’t remember exactly when it started, but sometimes they’d let me into shoots. An Extra, a cute kid who could hold a flower or smile, sometimes my mother would make me an outfit that matched a model’s and we could take the picture together.”

“Wow,” Al says in polite surprise. “Was that even allowed at your age?”

Roy smiles. “Not strictly speaking, but the models liked me, and would have thrown a fit if they’d thrown me out. But the legal side of things _was_ getting a bit astringent, so I became an actual child model when I had just turned twelve. I stayed with the same people, though. The same place, everything. My mother and I moved to several different places when I was growing up, but I always kept in touch with the same people if I could manage it.”

Ed is looking at him now, golden eyes blinking with something between _impressed_ and _curious._ Roy can’t help feeling ever-so-slightly smug. He winks across the table at Ed, who promptly turns red and gets up to ‘wash his plate’. “So, nothing very tragic, and I always had food and clothes.”

“What about friends?” Al wonders, and Roy shrugs.

“I told you: I grew up around a large portion of older women. Some of them were models, some worked alongside my mother, a couple were even photographers, but they all knew me somehow. They made up the bulk of my friends.”

Ed is, true to his word, washing his plate off at the sink with what is probably unnecessary thoroughness. But he pauses when Roy gets to that part in his narrative, turning around to look at him. “That’s…interesting. And kinda creepy.”

“Brother,” Al reproves.

“But interesting!”

Roy rolls his eyes, but he’s smiling when he brings his plate to the sink next to Ed’s. He dodges neatly from Edward’s attempted grasp, and grins at his subsequent scowl. “I can wash it.”

“Yeah, well _my_ hands are buried in food-water, so this is more _efficient._ ”

He makes a grab for Roy’s plate again, and now they’ve both got a hold on it. “I wasn’t aware that you were so interested in efficiency,” Roy murmurs, eyes fixed on Ed’s lower, and quickly darkening golden ones.

Water from Ed’s hand runs down the plate and soaks Roy’s own, but it’s an immovable object and an unstoppable force and neither of them is letting go any time soon. Why Roy gets the urge to be as much the child in situations like this is beyond him, but he guesses it’s an effect of being in Ed’s presence.

A huff of breath behind both of them makes their heads turn, and then Al is pushing past both of them and taking the plate. “ _I’m_ going to wash,” he says in a voice that brooks no disagreements. “If you want to be helpful, you can sweep under the kitchen table and wipe it down. The table,” he adds in answer to Ed’s puzzled look. “Not the floor.”

Ed’s eyes immediately flick to Roy. “I’m doin’ the floor.”

Roy’s eyes narrow. “Then I’m doing the table.”

Ed darts out of the room, presumably to where he knows the broom _is,_ and Roy looks around where the drawers are. “Where do you keep your cloths?”

Al sighs slightly as he hands him a towel with his free hand. “Is this some sort of contest.”

“No,” Roy replies, soaking the cloth and squeezing it out. Ed returns to the kitchen, red-handled broom in hand, and begins pulling the chairs out to sweep more thoroughly.

Roy glances back at Al, who has both eyebrows raised. “Not at all.”

He starts wiping down the table, (damn, there are so many crumbs for having eaten a casserole) and sweeps them onto the floor. A few land on Ed’s shoes, and he glares up at Roy, who narrowly avoids laughing.

“Don’t push it, Mustang.”

“Why, Edward,” he returns lightly, as he wipes fingerprints from the edges of the table, “I was under the impression that you were the one doing the pushing.” He gestures to the broom lying limp in Ed’s hand, and then narrowly avoids being spitted on it.

Al looks somewhat bewildered by this whole exchange, but eventually the plates are safely back in the cabinet where they belong, and Roy is rinsing out the now dirty cloth in peace.

Ed returns from the closet and brushes his boots off, still scowling. “I finished first.”

“I put my tool away first,” Roy points out.

“But you got _crumbs_ on my boots, which was lazy as shit,” Ed fires back.

Al offers Roy a glass of water, and then one to Ed. “Please just come sit down before my kitchen gets ruined.”

“I can’t stay too much longer,” Roy says regretfully, checking his watch.

“Yeah, Modelstang over here’s got to ‘prepare’ himself for tomorrow,” Ed says with thinly-veiled sarcasm.

 “It’s a real thing, Edward,” Roy replies loftily. “Mock it all you want.”

“I will,” Ed says darkly.

He never does things by halves, Roy has noted from long ago. He doesn’t ‘taste’ his food, he shovels it. He doesn’t ‘sip’ his water; he gulps it like he is dying of thirst. And he doesn’t interact in subtleties or any of the million social games that people working in such a people-centric business find themselves forced to. He is himself, and it overpowers any sort of charming personality he could craft from being otherwise.

Al is an excellent conversationalist; quieter than Ed by far, but there is the same kind of intensity in him that simply broadcasts itself in a different way. Roy learns that he’s studying Mechanical Engineer, but his personal hobby lies in Physics.

“What made you want to go into that field?” Roy inquires curiously. It’s a very respectable line of work, but since Ed went in such a different direction, he has to wonder what inspired it.

Al glances at Ed, as if asking permission for something, and Ed nods back. “He knows, a little.”

Roy blinks. A conspiracy.

“I wasn’t _always_ planning on being a PA, y’know,” Ed says.

“You did mention it.”

“Yeah, well, when I first got to college, I wanted to be a Robotics engineer; I guess engineering kind of runs in the Elric family.” Ed tosses a grin at Al, but it’s smaller somehow, and less bright. “I was trying to work out the kinks on a type that would be able to perform tasks that would be too dangerous for humans, like long periods underwater, in places that might collapse, even helpin’ with things like fires an’ all.” His voice speeds up a bit as he continues, as if eager to have this portion of the conversation over with. “But,” he tries for another grin, careless and nonchalant. Roy doesn’t buy it for a second. “Working around that stuff isn’t without risks, y’know. I mean, it’s not like you’re worried about a robot invasion, but you _do_ have to contend with technology that seems eternally bent on fucking up in different ways.”

Roy doesn’t like where this is going.

“When I was eighteen, someone had gotten unauthorised access to one of the machines, and it was seriously acting up. I thought I knew what was goin’ on and I was working on getting it under control. Wouldn’t ask for help.” Ed is retaining that calm voice, but there’s a low fire burning in his eyes that says he still harbours a lot of anger over that time.

“Guess I didn’t work fast enough, or maybe I was just trying the wrong thing, but either way one of the pieces hanging down fell from spazzin’ out and managed to fuck up my leg pretty good.”

Roy nods. “You mentioned that you have trouble with your leg sometimes.”

“A bit of an understatement,” Al cuts in, hands a little tighter as they rest at his sides. “It’s a little ironic, though; they gave him a replacement leg started by the same department that created that technology.”

Roy blinks over at Ed. “You lost the whole leg?”

Ed pats his left thigh. “Basically got crushed all the way to a little below here. Winry, Al’s classmate, did a shitton of work on it. It’s probably the best model of its time,” he says, voice proud. “Got some scarring on my shoulder, too, but that’s mostly healed up now. But after that incident, I couldn’t work properly for months, and even then my doctor wouldn’t sanction me workin’ around heavy machinery like that again.” The self-loathing in his voice is glaringly bright, and in itself a physical pain to Roy.

Once again, he is a little lost for words, and Roy exceedingly dislikes the situation.

“I heard that working as an administrative assistant involves lots of pressure and quick decisions, so I guess at the time it seemed the most interesting to me.” Ed shrugs, finger tracing the rim of his glass. “So I went into that, an’ here I am.”

Al has been watching Ed, despite the fact that he must have heard this story a dozen times by now. Roy is certain he isn’t the first to ask why a mind such as _Edward Elric’s_ would choose to be a PA. Much less a PA in a fashion industry. His expression has gone from empathetic to sad to strangely _proud,_ and Roy briefly wonders how nice it must be to have a younger sibling like Al.

“That’s really amazing,” he finally says, voice completely honest.

Ed looks at him with something like suspicion, but for once he doesn’t say anything back.

Roy finds that it’s drawing near to 8:30, and regretfully stands up. “Thank you for inviting me, Al.” He offers Ed’s younger brother a warm handshake. “Please let me know if you’d ever like me to return the favour.”

Al smiles, and Ed hops up. “’M gonna run to the bathroom before we head out,” he announces, before going to do just that.

“Thank you for coming tonight,” Al returns warmly, intelligent eyes fixed on Roy’s. “Is it serious?”

Roy blinks. “I beg your pardon?”

Al looks confused. “You’ve told each other, right?”

Something Roy’s stomach burbles hot and quick. “Edward and I…aren’t…dating.”

Al sighs, and looks hugely disappointed, and then confused again. “You have to realise why you’re here.”

Roy is starting to feel a little lightheaded, and thoroughly disapproves of the situation. “Because your brother invited me?”

“Ed has invited two people to eat with him here in the two years he’s worked for you.” Al’s voice is flat, like he’s explaining things to a child. His normally sweet voice sounds…exasperated? Or tired, more like. “You, and my classmate, Winry, whom I invite over here all the time anyway.”

Roy is still not finished processing. “So he’s reticent about having people over to his brother’s apartment, that’s hardly strange.”

Al rolls his eyes. “It _means_ he’s serious about you. He’s as obvious as a model in the army. And,” he adds, pointing his finger for good measure, “So are you.”

“…Thank you?”

“It was not a compliment.”

Roy is beginning to see the power that Al holds; he would literally do anything within reason to get Al’s disapproval directed _off_ of him.

He’s saved by the bathroom door opening, heralding Ed’s return, but Al is still glaring at him. He averts his eyes and turns to Ed as he comes back in, stretching with a yawn. “Ready to go, Mustang?”

“Quite,” Roy says, and waits for Ed to give Al a brief hug. Over Ed’s shoulder, Al is still looking at him, and Roy holds up his hands. _Alright,_ he hopes he’s getting across. _Alright._

Al makes a tiny, almost invisible nod, and lets Edward go.

The two of them leave the apartment without further discussion, and Roy’s not sure he would trust his voice anyway. It’s such a stupid mindset to be stuck in, but his mind is revved and just won’t shut up. He’s worse than a middle schooler at this rate.

_Ed likes me, Ed likes me, oh, please, please like me._

-=-=-=-=-

Wednesday morning is tragically bright, and Ed squints balefully as he looks out the window. Mustang, however, seems to be soaking it up like a goddamn solar panel, completely unperturbed.

“I’ve always thought it strange how someone with so many _sunshiney_ characteristics should demonstrate so many vampiric qualities,” Roy notes, the corners of his mouth twitching up.

Ed levels him with a steady golden glare. “The hell is that supposed to mean?”

Roy lifts a hand, gesturing to Ed’s smaller figure. “Well, I mean, your hair and eyes.”

“And?”

This is not normally how Roy’s compliments are received. “…And your skin’s pretty fair.”

Ed crosses his arms. “I’ll tell you what would be _pretty fair,_ Mustang.” He reaches behind himself and pushes a stack of papers into Roy’s chest. “Make sure that’s organised, and don’t be comparin’ me to any more states of weather.”

Roy obediently takes the papers and spreads them on his desk, but this battle is far from over. As he works, he hums the tune to _You are My Sunshine,_ and he can actually see Edward’s eyebrow twitching from across the room. He grins to himself, stacking the now-organised papers and bringing them to his fussy PA.

Ed holds out his hand for them without even looking up, but Roy continues to hold them just out of reach until Ed sighs, golden ponytail flicking over his shoulder as he glances up.

“Is this a game, Mustang? Is that what this is to you, because for _me_ it’s a waste of my-“

“I just wanted to know if you were alright,” Roy interrupts smoothly. “You seem tense.”

For a moment, Ed just stares at him, but then he scowls again. “I’m fuckin’ _fabulous,_ Mustang. Is the therapy session over now?”

“Such sourness from one so sweet.”

“Fuck off!” Ah, there’s that familiar blush, if nothing else.

Somehow the smile hasn’t left Roy’s face; maybe it’s from the realisation that Ed is…adorable. He just is. Why had he not paid attention to how red his ears went like that before?

But it’s clear that Ed is in a mood about _something,_ and Roy is personally fond of his dick and isn’t going to see it ripped off from poking this bear with a stick. So he leaves the papers with Ed and goes back to his own desk.

A few minutes of quiet pass between them, but a thought striking Roy breaks it. “Are the interns coming?”

Ed looks up, golden stylus twirling between his fingers. “Yeah, they’re coming. Takes a load off of me, but I know ‘m gonna want to be checking behind ‘em the whole time.”

Roy smiles at him reassuringly, and Ed physically _hates_ how comforting and, well, _reassuring_ he finds it. There’s nothing of the Mustang Charm™ or Mustang Wanting Something™ infused in it. It’s just…Roy.

He realises that Mustang is speaking again, and blinks to attention.

“…Sure it’ll be alright, especially if you’re managing them.”

He nods, distracted, and looks at his computer screen. “Hope you’re ready for this afternoon, Mustang.”

Roy tilts back in his chair and smirks, slightly predatory. “I am looking forward to it, yes.”

Ed keeps his attention focussed on his computer screen, frown pulling ever-so-slightly at his mouth.

Silence falls over the office again, but somehow Roy’s head is a cacophony of noise.

-=-=-=-=-

It’s a warm day, slight breeze just enough to keep Ed from feeling overly warm. There’s a table with an iced water cooler and paper cups nearby, and the shade of trees to help. Russel and Fletcher stand a few feet away, the excitement of their first time at a shoot obvious in their faces. Roy is off somewhere being prepped (prettied) for the shoot, but he should be around somewhere.

The spot of interest is an old house, abandoned by some unknown person long ago. It’s still in good condition, though, and the cameramen tidied it up a bit for the occasion.

Speaking of, Havoc and Breda sit on the steps, cameras resting on their legs as they clean the lenses. They’re deep in casual conversation, and the smoke from Jean’s cigarette drifts lazily upwards. Ed thinks absently to himself that that scene by itself would make a nice picture, perhaps even one that wouldn’t manage to frustrate and confuse him.

He knows he’s been more than a little pissy this morning, and some part of him regrets it a little. Not enough to go do something crazy, like apologise, but he feels bad about it.

It’s just…

The door bangs open suddenly, making him jump nearly a foot in the air. Roy comes out of it, suitably attired for the shoot. Or, you know, suitably _unattired._

He’s in a pair of old-looking jeans, and there’s a towel around his neck, only slightly whiter than Roy’s teeth. He’s shirtless, and there’s some concoction of artificial sweat making every curve and muscle gleam. No doubt that was the entire point.

Ed goes to the water cooler, and gets himself a nice, long drink of water.

Roy looks around over the heads of the people milling around, until he spots Ed, and brightens instantly. He lifts his hand in a wave, and Ed finds himself waving back. He almost crushes the paper cup in his other hand on accident when he does it.

Roy covers his laugh with a hand, and then turns when one of the set designers calls him over for a word.

Ed glances around to find Russel and Fletcher, and spots them from where they’ve moved away from him. Fletcher is conversing with one of the makeup artists, he seems to be curious about one of the brands being used or some shit. Russel, however…

His eyes are fixed on Roy, and he has made no attempt to be subtle about his appreciation. It’s not that Ed blames him; Roy is obviously _meant_ to be attractive here. He’s dressed up (or undressed up?) and his hair is perfect, and his normally pale skin has had _something_ added to it to make it just a bit tanner, and it’s practically glowing in the afternoon light.

Ed swallows heavily, and remembers not to stare. _Somebody’s_ gotta remain classy in this situation, after all, and it’s obviously not going to be Russel.

The cameras, now clean and ready for use, snap to life and capture Roy in a hundred different seconds. Laughing, smiling, slowly smiling, smouldering, basically if Roy could physically do it, it was done. The shoot manager wanted to see, in his own words, “Every angle, every expression” from him, and it seemed they were living up to this promise.

 Ed occupies himself on his laptop, sitting Indian style on the grass with it in front of him. The water cup from early keeps tipping over every time there’s a breeze, so eventually he just gets up to make the ten-foot journey to the water cooler to refill it.

Russel and Fletcher have fucked off somewhere, and at this moment Ed can’t really bring himself to care. The last he saw them, they were hanging around the set designer, and that’s good enough for him.

He fills up his cup full of cold water, sighing in satisfaction as he takes a drink. Then he goes to refill it, better to sit on the grass unhindered with.

“Do save some of the water,” Ed freezes a little and turns around, facing Roy’s nonchalant expression as he holds up his own cup in the air. “Some of us have been slaving away and are quite thirsty.”

Ed moves aside for him, eyes rolling all the while. “If by ‘slaving away’ you mean ‘staring at a camera’, then sure.”

Roy gives him an indignant look, rendered temporarily unable to speak as he drinks down his cup of water. When he’s finally able to speak again, he wipes his mouth off with his left hand and tosses his head. “It requires a great deal of concentration _and_ patience, I’ll have you know.”

“Great, now you know what workin’ with _you_ requires,” Ed retorts, and at Roy’s speechless expression a tiny smile pulls at his mouth.

The change seems to relax Roy immediately, never mind the fact that he didn’t even respond. He smiles back, wiping his forehead with the towel that’s still slung over one shoulder.

“Where’d our new interns go?” Roy inquires casually, sipping his water at a slower pace.

Ed sighs, running a hand through the ponytail over his shoulder. “Last I saw, they were with someone decent, and fuck me if I’m going to go after ‘em now.”

Roy’s dark eyebrows rise, just a little. “What brings this animosity?”

Ed scowls. “Nothing. Just, I was right. I’ve been nervous about leaving them by themselves all day.”

Roy moves forward to refill his paper cup, and Ed’s breath goes a little staticky in his throat. There’s less than a foot of distance between them, Roy pushing slightly past him to reach the water cooler. The cool air is heavy, the light almost hazy.

Roy must notice his blank expression, because he reaches back with a concerned look. “Ed?”

Ed shakes himself a little and drinks his water. “Sorry; just thinkin’.”

The man in front of him doesn’t look at all convinced, and Ed stifles a sigh. “What’s gotten into you?”

“I could ask you the same question.” There’s a trace of coolness to Roy’s voice that Ed doesn’t like, doesn’t like at all.

“Why?” He fires back, but he knows, and it’s _justified…_

“You’ve been irritable since this morning.” Roy glances down at his water cup, swishing the clear liquid for a moment. “I just didn’t want to think it was me without doing anything about it.”

Ed wants to laugh, and he also wants to cry a little bit, and he also wants to kiss him so badly it’s a physical pain resting in his chest. He swallows back the rasp of those thoughts, and shrugs. “It’s not a big deal. Nothin’ to concern your styled head about.”

Roy looks amused momentarily, but his dark eyes are heavy on Ed’s and he can tell this isn’t the end of the conversation.

The words tumble out of him with a frenetic, hitched quality to them. “’S just, I don’t…” He isn’t sure how to phrase the next sentence; _why are words so hard?_ And nearly crushes his cup again in frustration with himself.

_I don’t like seeing you spun out like this; half-naked and prettied up to be printed in a magazine so some group of buyers can salivate over you. Is that weird, Roy? I’m sorry if that’s weird. It’s just that I’m beginning to think you deserve a lot, and I think you deserve better than being reduced to that. Or_ this.

_Is that why I’ve been such a dick all morning?_

_Maybe I’m just stupid and jealous, Roy…_

Roy’s still watching him, warily, but there’s a quality to his gaze that Ed hasn’t seen much before. Almost like there’s an understanding even though nothing has really been said.

Ed makes eye contact at his silence and is suddenly _verymuchfartoo_ aware that two more inches and they’re kissing.

Even more than that, he wants to _close_ that two inch gap.

_Maybe, this time…?_

Ed clenches his fists as if to find some courage in that resulting tightness, and…

Looks down at himself where he has just collapsed his paper cup and spilled water all over his jeans.

“Oh, fuck,” he says, because naturally.

“Here, use this.” Roy offers him his towel-his _artificially sweaty smell and real sweat smell and slight, slight warmth from where it had been resting on Roy’s shoulder_ -and smiles that _reassuring smile_ again. “Don’t worry about it; I’d say the cup suffered more than you did.”

Ed bends down, accepting the towel, and wipes away all the damage that he can, but most of it has already soaked into his pants’ leg. Cursing under his breath, he keeps his face down and lips bitten shut. _Stupid fucking stupid-_

There’s Russel and Fletcher now, _running_ across the grass like they’re being chased by something. Turns out, as Havoc and Breda ascend the hill, they just didn’t want to carry the equipment.

Roy offers him a hand as Ed stands up, and gestures at the two of them, then steps back until the distance between them is much more than _two inches_. “I can see their diligence is already taking them places,” he remarks drily.

Ed is tired, damp, a little pissed at Roy and _very_ pissed at himself, and it wasn’t even that _funny_ …but somehow that voice still manages to pull a snort of laughter out of him.

-=-=-=-=-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ~~It’s a good thing they have so much water nearby, because these children are thirsty, thirsty.~~
> 
> This was basically the dialogue chapter. Or the Ed-is-slowly-dissolving chapter. Either way, thanks for reading!  
> Ed’s tendency to care too much about everything leeches into, well, everything he does. Maybe he’s discovering Roy is no exception…


	4. Roy's Newest Offer is Absolutely Mazen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Roy leans back, the empty space that Ed occupied only moments before now feeling like a rebuff. His breathing is slightly uneven as he straightens up, eyes fixed on the stairwell down which Edward has disappeared. Apparently Roy’s unwanted questioning warrants a light jog down the stairs instead of a sensible ride down the elevator.

 

_"But I've seen your long hair come down,_

_It turned my head inside out._

_And I want you, I want you,_

_I still do."_

-Quesadilla, Walk the Moon

-=-=-=-

_"Guess it must be nice working here, huh?"_

_Roy blinks at him, face suddenly confused. "Why do you say that?"_

_Ed forces off a scowl, gesturing around them. "Well, I mean, you're surrounded by women. You're constantly working around them. Must be a pretty great deal, right?"_

_Roy smiles slightly, glancing down at his shoe tip, which is harbouring a slight scuff. “It’s the best of both worlds, really.”_

_At Ed's confused silence, he glances back up. "Not that it isn't a pleasure to work around these women, as you pointed out. But I appreciate the charms of both men_ and _women." His voice is smooth with confidence; someone comfortable in their own skin. But is that a trace of redness in his cheeks?_

_"Oh." Ed blinks, unsure of what to say next._

_Roy is looking at him cautiously, a trace of wariness in his gaze. "I trust that won't be a problem for you?"_

_Ed shakes his head, golden eyes turning bright and fixed on Mustang's face. He’s so stupidly attractive; any gender would be lucky to have him. Ed scowls at this thought, and pushes it away. "Nah, won't be one at all. I'm just gay, so not quite as interesting, ‘m sure, but I get where you're comin' from. Girls scare the hell outta me, to be honest."_

_Roy smirks, then nods and looks out the window. "Excellent, then. Not your fear of the female population, I’m sure they’re mourning their loss as we speak."_

_Ed doesn't quite know what he means by that, but he gets that this arrangement is acceptable and they're still both on good terms. He grins a little, dispelling any of that nasty nervousness with a clap of his hands. It makes Roy's head whip around, startled._

_"Now that we've gotten that pleasantness outta the way, I think it's time you started signing those papers."_

_He points to the new, shiny desk, already complete with a stack of paperwork. Head tilting back, he lets an enormous sigh escape him. "What a pleasant welcome."_

_Ed's grin hasn't left his face, and he moves forward in the office. "C'mon; how 'bout if you finish those papers before lunch, I'll buy you a coffee this afternoon."_

_Roy looks at him, eyes narrowed in calculation. "Jean told you, didn't he?"_

_"'Course he did." There is something like_ glee _in Edward Elric's voice. "I'll even let you pick the flavour."_

_Eyes still narrowed, cursing his betrayal, Roy strides over to his desk._

_"Fine," he says, and picks up a pen as vengefully as drawing a sword._  

-=-=-=-=-

Ed wakes up from his daydream with a start as the door slams shut, and Roy comes around the corner, fists tight at his sides.

H's heading to the closet again-Ed can _feel_ it in his bones without even having to turn around from where he had been facing the window, but he does it anyway.

"Roy," he says. Ooh, his coffee cup’s still on the desk. He takes a swig of his coffee and stares, unimpressed. It’s cold, but it’s still caffeine.

Roy doesn't respond, which is frankly worse than if he had made some scathing remark. Loud Roy means pointless anger, silent Roy means Sudden Death. Ed hears the closet door opening and that seals it; he gets up and rounds the corner for visual confirmation. Roy is reaching into the closet, jeans pulled tight over his ass in a way that Ed should definitely _not be paying attention to_ right now, cursing quietly.

"You're not gonna find the racket," Ed comments calmly.

Finally, Roy turns to look at him, eyes glazed in a way that would terrify a lesser man. "Where is it?" He asks, almost hissing. Ed gets the sudden image of a very large black cat pawing and hissing angrily.

"I threw it out." Not _quite_ true; he'd given it to Fury for safe-keeping, so it was hopefully stowed somewhere safely in his office. But as far as Roy needed to know...

"You _threw it away?"_ Roy screeches, looking straight at him in that way he thinks is intimidating. Ed almost snorts. He looks regretfully at his now-empty coffee cup, and tosses it in the trash.

"Jesus, Mustang, what else was I _supposed_ to do?" He waves a hand. "When you're pullin' shit like _this_ just because you’ve had a bad start to your day-"

"It was not just the ‘start’ to a 'bad day'." Roy makes air-quotes in a positively venomous manner. "I've been looking forward to that shoot for _months,_ and they just..." he straightens up, shoulders twitching dangerously. " _Cancel_ it, like I'm some B-grade model they can just _ditch by the wayside-_ "

"Okay, okay, calm down, Modelstang," Ed responds placatingly, grabbing his jacket with a thankfully concealed sigh. "How 'bout we go grab you your 11 AM drug hit and letcha calm down a bit, hm?"

Roy is still staring daggers, but they don't seem to be directed at Ed, and that's good enough for him at the moment. He waits until Roy shoulders on his jacket before throwing the door open, ushering Roy safely out.

“So, you’re talkin’ about the Wilhelmina shoot?” Ed frowns, sticking his hands in his pockets as he walks beside his fussy model. “How’d I not hear that it fell through?”

“Because they just called.” Roy’s voice has gone from spitting to flat, and it honestly isn’t any more comforting. “About fifteen minutes ago. Maes called me in to tell me; like I was a kid that had to have bad news delivered gently.” He scowls, shoulders hunched in a way that Ed assumes cannot be comfortable.

Ed offers him what he hopes is a comforting smile. In reality, it’s probably more of an awkward grimace, but at least he can say he’s tried. “Are they gonna try to reschedule?”

Roy throws his hands up. “Maes didn’t mention it. I hope for their own sakes that they do,” he adds darkly.

Ed represses a snort and steps through the sliding doors of the first floor. “Shit’s fallen through before, Mustang. What’s got your mood so damp?”

It’s another breezy day, and Roy looks perturbed at how it blows his hair around. “I just don’t appreciate such little notice. We were supposed to start in three days; I haven’t had a shoot in a week and a _half,_ Ed.”

That gets Edward to raise his eyebrows. “Oh, so you were looking forward to it. That’s it.” He grins, pulling a hand out of one pocket to lightly sock Roy on the arm. He whines and rubs his arm, as if Ed just whacked it with a sledgehammer. Wimp.

“I wasn’t dissolving in excitement,” Roy notes drily, having recovered.

By this point, they’re pushing into the coffee shop, and Ed extends his arm with a smirk to the counter. “Oh, look. We even get Mazen today.”

“How fortunate.”

Ed pulls out his phone and glances at the time, then looks back up at Roy. “We have time to sit down for a few minutes, if you want to.”

Roy nods, stepping into line behind a middle-aged woman. He glances up to the menu, then back at Ed. “If our normal spot isn’t taken, I like that one the best.”

“’Course it’s your favourite,” Ed mutters to himself as he makes his way towards the back. “That’s _why_ it’s the normal spot.”

Roy watches him go, smile curling the edges of his mouth, and then flicks his attention back to the line. After the woman goes, it’s his turn, and he orders himself a Frappuccino, and after a pause, a hot chocolate for Ed. It’s a cool enough day for it, and he knows Ed has a weakness for them, even if he never admits it. Usually he sticks to something simple like a _French roast_ or iced Americano, but Roy is in charge at the moment and will abuse his power as he sees fit.

Mazen accepts his card and swipes it through, yawning a little into his free hand. Roy wonders how he ever yawns if he works in a coffee shop.

“Edward and I were wondering,” he interjects smoothly as Mazen hands it back to him, “is there a story behind your name?”

Mazen sighs, as if this is the ultimately shameful request. “Why, are you two interested in making fun of me now? I have not freaked out over your identities _once-“_

“There was that time-“

“Okay, _once._ Still.”

Roy continues to look at him expectantly, eyebrows raised. Mazen moves towards the coffee machine, and breaks. “It was my mother. She’d been trying for a long time to get pregnant, and she made this stupid promise that if she ever had a kid, she would name them Mazen. Because,” he says, and Roy sees the hollowness of death in his eyes, “my birth was “’mazen.’”

Roy blinks. “Oh my god.”

Mazen pokes a finger at him, his other taken up by holding Ed’s cup. “Do _not_ go around sharing that.”

Roy holds up his hands, and accepts Ed’s now-finished hot chocolate. “Rest assured, I will not.”

“You owe _me_ a weird story for this, some day,” the frustrated barista mutters, and slides Roy’s coffee over the counter before waving him off.

Roy makes a little bow and moves to the back. Ed already has his laptop out and is typing away on it, lost to the world. He starts when Roy lets it drop just above the table, creating a _thunk!_

“Bastard.” Ed gives it a suspicious sniff. “You could’ve _splattered_ that.”

“But, I didn’t.”

Ed sits further back in his chair, flicking his braid over one shoulder. “I didn’t ask you t’buy this, you know.”

“I know,” Roy responds smoothly as he settles more comfortably into his own seat. “But I know you like them.”

Ed continues to watch him suspiciously as he takes a sip, as if he’s expecting Roy to jump up and laugh at him for falling for the joke. He can’t conceal the way his eyes brighten when it hits his taste buds, though, and Roy suppresses a smirk. He doesn’t need Ed to throw it on him, now that he’s got it.

“So, I found out why our friend Mazen has such a strange name,” he begins, and relishes the way that Ed leans forward, just a little.

-=-=-=-=-

When they get back to the office, things are strangely busy, or at least for that time of day. Ed and Roy brave their way past the little clusters of people on the first floor and then prick their ears up attentively to the elusive hum of even more activity on the 12th floor.

Ed opens the office door and they both get inside, only for Ed to nearly jump a foot in the air at the sight of an unfamiliar young man, and slightly farther back reclining in Roy’s chair, Maes. He gives them both a cheerful two-fingered wave, and Ed grits his teeth. “Why the f-“

“What my dear Assistant is trying to say,” Roy cuts in smoothly, holding Ed back by an arm, “is what brings this unexpected meeting?” He glances over at the stranger and holds out his hand, smiling beatifically. “Not that it is, at all, an unwelcome one.”

Strange Blonde flushes slightly, and if Roy thought this was relaxing Ed, he is dead wrong. _Speaking_ of dead, actually-

Maes is up before Ed can move again, however, and lays a hand on his shoulder. Anyone else and Ed probably would have chomped their arm off, but he knows that their eternally cheerful manager means well.

“Edward, this is Alphons Heiderich, the agent of one of the newer companies, and they’re interested in Roy.”

Ed, who is still vastly displeased at having been startled, nearly mutters _‘S that so?_ But catches himself in time and shakes Alphons’s offered hand. He’s a few inches taller than Ed (which is strange and therefore untrustworthy) with hair just a shade lighter than his own and a firm, steady grip.

“Pleasure to meet you,” Alphons says. It’s not a deep voice, but it’s a steady one.

“And this, of course, is our chief model, Roy Mustang,” Maes introduces, hand gesturing to the patiently waiting man in question.

He shakes Alphons’s hand with another of his characteristic smiles, and then weirdly enough, steps back so that he’s standing side-by-side with Ed. “A pleasure indeed.”

“As fun as this all is,” Ed brings them back to business drily, “I’m guessin’ you didn’t just come here to have a friendly chat.”

“He’s not the most gracious employee we’ve ever had,” Maes smiles, “but no one’s ever called him inefficient.”

Ed scowls, but Alphons is smiling at him in a way that’s almost empathetic. Hmm. “You’re spot-on, I actually came here with an offer, or the possibility of one, for Mr. Mustang. But I assumed you and Mr. Hughes would want to be here.”

“Shouldn’t we sit down first?” Roy inquires, glancing around. “Surely the couch would be more comfortable than standing up for so long.”

“A fabulous idea,” Maes agrees, and Ed moves to the couch with the rest of them. Roy flashes him a grin as they fall a little behind Maes and Alphons, and he shoots back a nasty nose-wrinkle. That’ll teach ‘im. Probably.

Once they’re seated and generally in a position to be talking more on the subject at hand, Alphons hands Edward a crisp yellow folder. There’s really no _reason_ for it to be yellow, but Ed notes the aggressiveness of the shade, regardless. He peruses the folder with narrowed golden eyes, breaking gaze with it when something catches his eye. “ _You_ contacted Fusion?” He looks curiously up at Roy.

Roy blinks, taking the offered folder from Edward’s outstretched hand and glancing over it. “It must have been a over a year ago now…but yes.” He looks over at Alphons with a raised eyebrow. “So, you represent Fusion.”

“That’s correct.” Maes came up with a pitcher of water and some glasses out of somewhere, and Alphons sips at his gratefully. “They’ve recently expressed interest in you after seeing your most recent shoot…” he fishes around in his messenger bag and pulls out an issue of _Wonder_ magazine; their most recent one, in fact. Roy is seated on those steps with his trademark smirk. Ed hopes the click of his teeth shutting together isn’t audible.

Roy, however, looks quite pleased. “Oh, I’m glad they picked that one. It’s my favourite.”

Maes snorts, but focusses on the amused Alphons. “Why have you only come back now?”

“Ah.” Ed wonders if that’s Alphons-speak for oh-shit-hold-on, too. He picks up the folder from the coffee table and flips to the back. Roy’s nose immediately wrinkles as Ling Yao’s smiling picture lies face up. “You see, Fusion hasn’t decided who they want for a charity shoot and following fashion show yet _exactly,_ but it’s come down to you two.”

“I see,” Roy says in his Too Calm voice, and Ed feels a smile find his face for the first time that day.

“You’re requested to come to Fusion’s studio, here in New York City, in two weeks, for a specialised shoot. You and Mr. Yao will both do separate shoots on the same theme, and the one Fusion likes best-“

“Gets the job,” Roy finishes.

Alphons nods, and sips his water again. “Precisely.”

“That’s a very interesting way of doing things,” Maes comments with genuine curiosity.

Alphons’s (for some reason, it’s getting increasingly difficult not to call Alphons _Al._ This makes Ed scowl, because it means the blonde agent is _getting to him)_ mouth twitches in a smile, and he shrugs. “This _is_ a fashion industry, after all. It seems no one is bound with the promise of being _reasonable._ ”

Ed grins, frowns, decides that Alphons is alright. At least he seems to understand how all this bullshit line of work…works.

“So you’re here t’ask Mustang here if he’ll do it,” Ed summarises. 

Al (he’s given up, he’s _sorry_ ) nods. “That’s right.”

“How long do we have to make a decision?” Maes inquires.

“The deadline is Thursday at 9:00 in the evening,” Alphons responds promptly.

“Two days,” Ed muses. He looks up at Al, who meets the brightness of his gaze with the steadiness of his own.

Al turns to Roy and smiles at him. “Thank you for your patience. I assure you that you weren’t being ignored.”

“It’s very easy to believe such a kind face,” Roy returns smoothly, accepting Alphons’s handshake as he stands up. “Can we offer you lunch? It would be my treat.”

“Thank you, but I have several other clients I need to get to,” Alphons responds lightly. “I’ll hold you to that offer for sometime in the future, however.”

“I look forward to it,” Roy murmurs, and Ed rolls his eyes so hard it hurts.

Alphons takes the folder back, but leaves his contact information in the form of a crisp white card on the desk. Ed walks him out and jerks his thumb in the direction of the room they’ve just left. “Thanks for puttin’ up with him. He’s a flirt and possible an idiot, but he’s alright.”

Al smiles at him warmly. “I promise you, he’s been less than Mr. Yao will prove to be.”

“I believe that,” Ed responds darkly as they part ways, and he watches Alphons head towards the elevator.

His laugh echoes down the hallway, messenger bag slung loosely over his shoulder.

-=-=-=-=-

Sunset light is streaming through the huge hallway windows, colouring the entire space shades of orange, and Roy is just thinking about what he wants for dinner when he hears the voice.

"Mustang."

Roy turns around, dark eyes fixing on him with a smile. "Edward?"

"Why'd you contact Fusion all that time ago and never tell me?" Ed's voice is laced with curiosity.

Roy pauses before answering, eyes flicking to the window and then back to him. "Do you remember when we had that argument last year about my work hours?"

Ed snorts. "You were drivin' yourself into the goddamn _ground,_ Mustang. Yeah, I remember."

"Well," Roy has the grace to look a little sheepish. "I was feeling slighted, and you were sulking a little-"

"Was _not-_ "

"-Fine, sulking a _lot,_ and I didn't feel like asking you to do it for me. So I put in a word and let it be. I'd forgotten about it, to be honest."

"Huh."

"Are you upset with me?"

This time it's Ed who takes a moment before answering, but he shrugs his shoulders and shakes his head, rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet for a second. "Nah. I just, I don't know. Thought you might've been tryin' to do shit by yourself so you could..."

"Do without you?" Roy has the extreme audacity to look amused. He takes a step forward, laying a hand on Ed's shoulder, his other resting in his coat pocket. It's heavy and warm on Ed, and he puts in the effort to repress a shiver.

"Edward," Roy says, voice a register more quiet, and maybe that sends a slight shiver down Ed's back, too. Roy's eyes are serious as they stay on his own, not leaving as he says his next words. "I think that if I tried to do that, I would fail miserably. I would be completely lost without you, you know."

Well, that's the first Ed's fucking heard of it. Maybe that's a little unfair, but Mustang _looking_ at him and _touching_ him even if it's in a casual way is frankly a little fucking unfair, so it pans out.

“…Yeah,” is what he musters. Because he is Edward Elric, the PA with a couple fucked up limbs and a head that’s probably not all twisted on right either, and it seems _Graceful Replies_ don’t fit into his branch of expertise. “Cool. Just wanted to check.”

Roy’s still smiling at him in weird kind of way, and it’s making Ed a little self-conscious, but not nearly as much as the fact that Roy is _still right there_ in front of him, and it shouldn’t fluster him so much when they’re in each other’s spaces all the _goddamn time,_ but it does.

“I still have to ask,” Roy says, seemingly entirely unaffected and unaware of the madness shifting around inside one Edward Elric’s skull. “You thought I was trying to get rid of you, which seems a little preposterous-“

Ed narrows his eyes, and Roy holds up his hands with a smirk that belies his sincerity. “-But from a practical standpoint alone, Edward, that would be stupendously foolish of me. You’re extremely good at what you do, and _I_ of all people would know.” Ed frowns a little and Roy smiles a _lot._ “You could have left at any point for some place better.”

Edward blinks. “Why the fuck would I have done _that_?”

"Why did you choose this place?" Roy gestures around them, something like impatience in his tones. It’s a groundless way to express things and Ed is suddenly beginning to understand, and feeling more than a little pissed off because of it. “Why stay here, when there are so many other places that would love you?”

The smaller PA looks like he’s fighting the urge to explode, or maybe hit Roy in the face. He sincerely hopes neither happens. His voice has dropped to a whisper, and it sends a shiver up Roy’s spine. “’Cause I wanted to work with _you_ , bastard.”

Before Roy can frame a decent reply, (when _did_ his throat get so dry like that?) Ed has ducked out of his grip and moved down the hall, something less than running but a good deal more than casual walking.

Roy leans back, the empty space that Ed occupied only moments before now feeling like a rebuff. His breathing is slightly uneven as he straightens up, eyes fixed on the stairwell down which Edward has disappeared. Apparently Roy’s unwanted questioning warrants a light jog down the stairs instead of a sensible ride down the elevator. Roy thinks of Ed’s leg, like he has been more _often_ as of late, and sighs before turning back down the hallway. There’s no point in going after him, and besides, what would he begin to say? The magnitude of what Ed has just said to him is far from lost on Roy, but he’s still not sure how to take it. There’s Salt and there’s Sugar and then there’s Completely Unrealistic.

Salt: Ed enjoys working with him, and it is the combination of Roy _and_ a position in which no one would argue his skill that warrants Edward remaining here. He enjoys Roy’s company; lots of people do. No need to make a fuss over it.

Sugar: Ed _singularly_ and intensely values his presence and Roy’s presence alone, and if he were not there, Edward would probably be up and out with admirable speed, prosthetic leg be damned.

Completely Unrealistic: Ed was trying to give him a compliment in his own blunt way, and his anger was caused by (A) shock that Roy didn’t realise that Ed _enjoys_ working with him already and (B) a personal level of self-consciousness and flustered thinking.

He lets out a deep sigh and scrubs a hand over his face.

-=-=-=-=-

Thursday morning is grey and windy, which uplifts Ed if nothing else. He grabs himself a coffee and then one for Roy, because he is a very good person.

Actually, it’s really for his own safety, but this looks and sounds better on him. With both hands occupied and bag slung over his shoulder, he pushes the door to Amestris open with his prosthetic foot and strides inside. Well, it’s more like a wiggle and a complicated shuffle, but the doors are _heavy,_ okay? He (gently) shakes a coffee cup at Rosé by way of greeting instead of waving, and she smiles back at him.

“Is it a caffeine kind of day?” She inquires knowingly.

“I don’t know when it’s _not,_ so yeah,” Ed nods back.

He hits the elevator button with his elbow and does the same thing once he’s inside. Even with the cardboard guards, the cups are warm in his hands. He leans against one corner of the elevator, sighing against the selection of music. It’s not that he has anything against Taylor Swift; he’s all about female empowerment. But when she’s going full-throttle on the chorus of _Mean,_ Ed would like to tell the media who’s really being mean here. He sips his coffee and patiently waits until the door opens to let him out.

Roy isn’t there yet, which surprises him a little. He’s usually punctual as hell, which is saying something considering that Ed (witnessed by the 9:30 on the wall clock) is usually pretty punctual himself.

Ed sets Roy’s coffee on his desk and takes a seat at his own, taking another chug of coffee before unlocking his computer.

The little notification reminding him about Alphons’ proposal pops up immediately, and he huffs a breath through his nose. He fishes his phone out o the pocket of his black jeans and checks for any new texts. None so far. He makes sure the sound is up and places it on the smooth glass of his desk.

He’s almost halfway through his coffee cup when the door clicks open and Roy slides inside. He’s all windblown hair and sapphire blue scarf despite the fact that it’s almost spring and Ed resists the urge to start chewing on his phone. Instead, he leans back in his chair with surprising grace considering the situation, and raises one eyebrow. Surely he must be getting almost as good at that as Roy.

“Did we enjoy a leisurely stroll to work today?”

“I’m surprised that word exists in your vocabulary,” Roy returns without skipping a beat, and then catches sight of the coffee. Dark blue eyes flick to his own desk, and he sits on the edge to take a greedy sip before continuing. “There was an accident, and I, tragically, was caught behind it.”

“Sitting like that is a terrible idea,” Ed fires back, not having forgiven him yet for the jab.

Roy lifts his shoulders in a shrug and makes his way around to his desk chair. “I’m not actually

that late.”

“Good thing, too.” Ed pulls up that irksome notification. “Are you gonna accept Fusion’s proposal or not? You’ve been ‘thinking about it’ for days, and we’re up against a deadline.”

Roy settles in his chair a little more, and swivels the last sip or two in his coffee cup in one hand like it’s a glass of fine brandy. “I’m not entirely eager to be around Ling Yao, especially in a context where we are essentially being pitted against each other.”

He tosses his now empty cup in the trash, and Ed waits for him to finish. 

“But I have always liked Fusion.”

“And?” Ed prompts. Damn. Now _his_ coffee is gone, too.

“It looks like an interesting business proposal.”

“Y’know, you could just say ‘sounds fun’.” Ed rolls his eyes. “I won’t tell anyone.”

Roy’s mouth twitches in a smile. “But you just said it for me so succinctly.”

“Figures I’d even do your speaking for you,” Ed mutters, clearing that notification and creating another for himself. “You got an answer or not? ‘Cause if you don’t by Six, I’m calling him with a No.”

Roy pauses for a moment, and glances at the watch on his wrist. He’s taken his scarf off and hung it over his chair instead, and his shirt is rolled up at the elbows and just frankly looks terrible.

_Terribly attractive,_ Ed’s brain whines, traitor that it is.

“Give me until our afternoon coffee,” Roy says, finally. “But don’t say No yet.”

Ed looks back at his computer, and consoles himself with its sleek surface and blank personality. “Why, Mustang,” he says in a voice that is quite even. “I wasn’t aware that word was even _in_ your vocabulary.”

-=-=-=-=-=-

Ed really likes hot chocolate. He tries not to let too many people (read: anyone) in on this, because it’s fodder for mockery and honestly, he could just do without it. But it’s almost Four in the afternoon, and he’s not denying that it’s some pretty great shit, and he’ll put up with a little ridicule if push comes to shove. But still; it’s something he’d rather do without.

Which is why he’s quite _peeved_ (if _peeved_ is a better word than _absolutely pissed off)_ when Roy comes into the office with a dramatic slam of the door as he points in Ed’s direction. “I want to take the job.”

Ed is left with his still piping-hot cup of hot chocolate resting in the tips of his fingers, caught mid-blow as Roy’s mouth slowly spreads in a smile.

“I can smell that,” he says, as if this is some sort of accomplishment.

Ed sighs, sets down his cup, and glances upwards at Roy. “What do you mean you want the job? You mean you wanna _try_ for the job, at Fusion?”

“I _mean_ that I don’t want Ling Yao to have it,” Roy says, as if this is obvious.

Ed rolls his eyes. “Why’d you hate that guy so much, anyway? ‘S it because you fell short in the dick measuring contest?”

“Not quite.” Ignoring the short joke that immediately rises to his lips, Roy pulls his chair over by its wheels and sits down in front of Ed, fingers steepling themselves at his chin. Ed notes mentally that he hasn’t even gotten his coffee yet, but apparently this is still happening. His dark eyes narrow, slightly, but his voice is still something almost playful, layered in something more serious. Like a layered chocolate brownie, Ed thinks to himself. “I won’t say he hasn’t worked to be where he is. But he takes life like it’s being handed to him on a silver platter.” His eyebrows come together in a frown. “I dislike his attitude of entitlement.”

“Well, sure.” Ed sips his hot chocolate contemplatively. His golden eyes hold Roy’s like planets trapped in orbit. “You’ve been doin’ this since you were a kid. You worked hard to be where you are, right?”

Roy nods, and Ed continues. There’s a new steeliness to his voice that hasn’t been there before. “But, you’ve had a goal to work towards and knew exactly what you wanted. Ling didn’t have that; he just wants his father’s company. But he’s got, what, six older siblings? Odds aren’t exactly in his favour. D’you think he has a plan? Assassinate his siblings, maybe?”

Roy is staring. Ed crumples his empty cup and tosses it in the trash. “Ling needs to do whatever he’s gotta do to get his dad’s attention.” His eyes narrow on Roy, and he points at him like he’s some military commander or something. “But I’m _not_ telling you not to kick his ass and get that job. Just know why you’re doin’ it.”

Roy smiles, slowly. Ed shrugs his shoulders. There is silence for a moment.

“You’d better call Alphons, then.”

Ed swings his legs out of his chair, sighing at the loss of that comfortable spot. “Yeah, yeah, ‘m on it.”

“Edward?” The sound of Roy’s voice pauses his hand on the door handle.

“Yeah?”

 Ed can’t see his face, but judging by the way his chest tightens up, he probably doesn’t need to see it anyway. “Thank you.”

A dozen answers spring into his mind, but only one finds its way to his mouth. “Yeah.”

He slips out the door, and Roy leans back in his chair when he hears the _click!_ of it shutting. A hand reaches up for him to rest his cheek, wisps of hair blowing off his forehead as he lets out a breath. He feels Ed’s words bounce around in his mind, although that’s hardly a new sensation; Ed seems to be in there most days anyway.

_Just know why you’re doin’ it._

-=-=-=-=-

“I confess that I was expecting your response to be fairly quick.” Alphons’ voice over the phone is amused.

“Yeah, well, Roy needed a little incentive.”

“Really?”

A huff. “…No.”

Al laughs, and Ed likes that it doesn’t feel like Al is laughing at _him_ at all. “I know about him and Ling, you know. I thought he would jump at the chance.”

“He thought it was too obvious-looking,” Ed explains conversationally. “I guess he assumes everyone knows about it.”

“Mm, I don’t think so? I know about it because Mr. Archer told me. But he’s not exactly a talkative person, so I doubt it’s exactly common knowledge.”

“Well, whatever had a stick up his a-butt…he’s over it now.”

“Always good to get those nasty things out of our abutts,” Al observes, still amused. Before Ed can frame a decent reply, he continues on with, “I’ll email you the travel stuff and then we’ll work together on scheduling and contracts and all that when you’re here.”

“Looking forward to it,” Ed says, and he means it. Ling and Roy’s rivalry aside, Fusion is a good company, and if they’re hiring people like Alphons, they can’t be too far off.

“Oh, and Mr. Archer would like to see a portfolio of Mr. Mustang’s work, if that’s at all possible. It helps him in making his decision; he requested one from Mr. Yao, too.”

Ed frowns slightly, twisting a lock of hair that’s fallen loose from his ponytail around his finger. It won’t be that _hard,_ but it’ll be time-consuming, and require a lot of Roy’s input to select which shoots to include and which to leave out. Very few companies request a full portfolio of your work, unless you’re either very new, or they’re very antsy.

“Yeah, I think I can do that,” he says, finally. “You need it by the time we get there?”

“That’s right,” Alphons affirms. “I know it’s a little short of notice, but like I said, I was expecting you to call a little sooner.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Ed responds, worrying about it. “I’ll have it done. Nice talkin’ to you.”

“Talk to you soon!” Alphons announces, and hung up.

Ed stands still for a moment, letting his breath out in a slow, even huff. He turns and eyes the closed office door where he and Roy work, debating as to whether he has the inner strength to do this right now.

Ed realises a moment later that in all reality, he will be undeniably exhausted by the next few days, and decides to spare himself until the next morning. Roy doesn’t have a shoot, and Ed doesn’t have any projects he needs to finish, so it should work out. Sighing a little to himself, he mourns inwardly that it’s really too late in the evening to reasonably go buy and then drink a large double-shot espresso coffee, but it’s still a compelling temptation.

He goes down the elevator and waves to Jean, who’s on the first floor again, but interestingly absent of Breda. Jean grins back at him around his cigarette, and goes back to cleaning his camera. Ed pushes out the front door and makes his way to his car, key ring swinging around his fingers.

-=-=-=-=-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Song for this chapter.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=z-t5nlvzUZM)
> 
> Thank you guys for reading; you're the best!


	5. Mustangs and Portfolios

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Why won’t you kiss me?”
> 
> But they both know he’s really saying, _Please, please kiss me._

 

_"That's what you want, but it's not what you're asking for._

_I said that's what you're asking, but you're gonna get more than you bargained for._

_I said that's what you had, but you don't have it any more._

_You had it coming..."_

-Iscariot, Walk the Moon

-=-=-=-=-

Al is skeptical about Ed’s story, but mostly the part where his older brother tells him there’s an _Alphons_ in the near vicinity.

“You know, I’ve never met anyone who shares my name, brother,” he observes over his cup of tea. It’s some kind that Ed’s seen before; it’s supposed to prevent allergies and promote general wellbeing. He wonders if Al’s been hanging around that weird cat orphanage again. “Let alone someone who dropped the E.

“It went from Excellent to Satisfactory,” Ed notes, and receives a withering look for his trouble.

“Your sense of humour wouldn’t get across to most people,” Al says, in the same tone of voice one might say, _you’re lucky that it does for me._ That’s the thing about Al: he’s constantly _saying_ one thing, but he really _means_ a completely different thing. The trick is figuring out what it is.

Fortunately, Edward has had years of practice and is looking forward to a whole weekend stretched in front of Friday night to sleep. So he’s willing to bite.

“Well, you’re a genius,” he offers, factually. “And I know you secretly love it.”

Al has not stopped looking at him disdainfully, and he takes another swallow of tea. Maybe along with general wellbeing it’s meant to extend _patience for dealing with Edward Elrics._ Ed’s gotta get himself some of that, or better yet, find the maker and procure some for dealing with _Roy Mustangs._

He knows that it’s not scientifically possible for any one person to read a mind, no matter how close those two people might be in age or emotion. But Al seems to constantly be trespassing on that theory with his uncanny ability to bring things up directly after Ed has thought them.

“How is Roy?”

Ed’s golden eyes narrow infinitesimally, fingers drumming on the soft golden wood of the kitchen table. “Y’know. Working, as usual.”

Al does not seem satisfied with this, but the offer enters Ed’s mind and he hastily picks up the thread of conversation. “He’s up for a shoot, for that company Fusion?”

Al nods. “I’ve heard of them.”

 Ed pulls the end of his braid out and inspects the ends. “Yeah, well, it’s him or this old rival of his, Ling Yao, and we’re goin’ to do a test run or some shit so that they can decide.”

Al takes a moment to think through this, flicking his gaze back up to Ed when he’s done so. “So there’s a preliminary shoot, and then once they decide, there’s another one?”

“Seems about the shape of it,” Ed nods.

“That’s interesting,” Al says, but Ed’s pretty sure that means, _Roy is going to win,_ and he loves Al for implying it.

“You think?” He says, leaning forward on his arms a little.

Al smiles at him, and swills the tea in his mug.

“How’s Winry?” Ed asks, because Al is not getting away just because he has an innocent face and a nice smile.

Al takes the question calmly, however, although Ed would be willing to wager that it’s a celebrity sort of calmness. The kind where they ask you if you’re cheating on your wife, and you just smile and look to someone else. “She’s doing well; I went to their house for dinner on Monday and her family seems really happy with her.”

“How’s the hand coming along?” Ed inquires, like he always does.

‘The hand’ is the latest mechanically-devised thing that Winry and Al are working on together. This project has taken them the longest, but it’s definitely paid off the most. They’re working on creating a prosthetic hand with an optional arm that connects to nerves and primary veins in the arm. The hand’s sensors are so delicate that it can establish a healthy communication between the brain and themselves, allowing the user almost, if not complete usage of their hand and arm again. Ed is incredibly proud of it, because he and maybe Winry know just how many nights he’s stayed up late, sketching out diagrams and working out flaws to make this function like nothing else.

Al immediately brightens, as Ed knew he would. “We had another breakthrough, actually! Now we’re considering the effects of phantom limb syndrome in the user, especially if they’re a military veteran.”

Ed considers this. “But if they got the arm back, wouldn’t the syndrome just…go away?”

Al smiles a little. “Do you ever still dream that your leg is gone?”

Ed is quiet for a moment, and Al finishes off his beverage. He doesn’t really need to make an answer to that question.

“It’s like that,” Al continues, as if nothing had happened, which technically, is the reality. “Only instead of dreaming it, we worry that it will affect their recovery speed. We don’t want them clawing off the arm as soon as they get it on,” he finishes wryly.

Ed nods, finger tracing an indentation in the table’s surface. It’s getting late, and he should consider going back soon, but he’s not sure. If Roy can make him feel alert and _awake_ like nothing else, Al is a soothing presence that quiets you without even trying. “That’s awesome. Not the whole clawing thing,” he corrects hastily. “The hand in general.”

Al beams at him again, and stands to wash out his tea mug. “Are you looking forward to this job?”

Ed considers for a second, then nods, slowly. “Yeah. They asked for a portfolio, like of Roy’s past projects? I’m gonna have to assemble that before we leave on Tuesday.”

“Oh, so soon?”

“Yep. Guess Fusion wants to get a leg on. Alphons sent me the email with travel details and shit.”

“And you don’t already have a portfolio on hand?” He wonders.

“Not an updated version,” Edward explains. “I wanna get a few of the more recent ones included; they were good and Fusion’ll be able to tell.”

“I saw that recent one, in the grocery store.” Al sounds amused and watches Ed’s reaction.

A scowl immediately blooms across Ed’s face. “That one?”

“The shirtless one,” Al confirms. “He looked quite nice,” he adds, innocently. “A little…sweaty?”

Ed’s teeth click together audibly. “It wasn’t even that warm. All of it was fake.”

“You seem to hold a lot of animosity towards one little shoot,” Al observes, craning his neck around from where he is at the sink.

That sparks a reminder in Ed’s brain, and he leans on his arms with a little groan. “D’you think I’ll have to take the interns?”

It’s a slightly open-ended question; there’s no reason why Al would know a thing like that. Hell, he barely knows who the Tringhams even _are._ But Al’s shoulders roll in a shrug as he considers momentarily, anyway.

“Probably. This’ll be a great experience for them, you know. And they _can_ be helpful, if you just utilise them correctly.” He says the word _utilise_ like you refer to a particularly efficient drill from the Home Depot you’d been looking at.

“Yeah, I guess,” Ed agrees, if sullenly. “And Fletcher’s not that bad.”

“Just Russel?” Al makes it sound like it really isn’t a question.

“You’d feel the same way, if someone was constantly ogling and…and… _sexualising_ Winry!” Ed defends staunchly, all flicking golden hair and righteous indignation. “He’s supposed to bring coffee and collect papers and vacuum sometimes, not act like Roy is the newest sampler at a fine bar.”

Al turns around, tailbone resting against the edge of the counter as he dries with an old white cloth. His face is thoughtful, but he suddenly smiles a little. “You called him Roy.”

Ed props his chin on his arms and blinks. “I call him Roy all the time.”

“No, you don’t,” Al shakes his head. “I don’t think you called him _Roy_ once when he was here.”

“I didn’t call him much of anything,” Ed points out, trying to remember everything that had transpired that night.

Alphonse looks far from convinced. “I don’t understand why you’re so opposed to the idea of it.”

“’Cause it’s a fuckin’ _dumb_ idea, Al.” Ed’s voice is exasperated. “It’s way safer as an idea than anything else.”

“But you didn’t say there was nothing there,” Al notes.

Edward huffs slightly. Actually, it’s a little more than slight. No part of him is slight. “That doesn’t really matter.”

Alphonse actually looks a little pained by that comment. Immediately Ed wants to fix it, and then remembers why it appeared in the first place. “I don’t think it’s dumb.”

“That means a lot, Al, it really does.” Ed pulls his braid out from where it’s been tucked into his neck and is itching irritably. “But you don’t-you’re not _there_ each day. For starters, I can’t date my employer.”

“Doesn’t Mr. Hughes technically employ you both?” Al puts his mug back in the cabinet (he doesn’t even have to go on his tiptoes, damn him) and takes his seat at the table once again. “I see your point, but Roy doesn’t technically pay you anything.”

“But everyone _knows_ I’m his PA. He’s above me in everything.”

Al looks as if he disagrees with the wording of that statement, but Ed presses on doggedly. “An’ for another thing, I happen to _like_ working at Amestris. If Roy and I…” even now, he can’t bring himself to let it come out. “ _Do_ something, and then it ends, like, six months later,” here his face twists a little in a way that Al does not fail to notice. “It’ll be awkward as shit. Actually, it’ll be worse than shit, ‘cause then I’ll have to talk to Maes, and Riza, and _Jean,_ and if Russel’s still workin’ there he’ll _never let it go,_ and-“

“Brother,” Al says, in a voice that is soothing and yet brooks no room for argument. Ed shuts his mouth with a snap.

“I just think you’re over-thinking this slightly,” Al continues, but not unkindly. “I know you care about him a lot. And I think,” here he pauses, as if searching the universe for answers before returning to his statement, “I think he cares about you, too.”

Ed’s cheeks go faintly red, and he pushes down the way his heart picks up at the thought, the way his fingers tingle curled around his arms. Excitement and fear swarm around in his stomach like twin kaleidoscopes of butterflies.

“Not right now,” he finally says, breathed out like he’s given up. But what he’s given up, Al isn’t quite sure. “Not while we have this whole shoot goin’ on and Roy’s up to his ears and _I’m_ up to my eyes. That’d be a shitty thing to do to spring that on him.”

“I hardly think you’d be _springing_ the idea on him,” Al says drily, but he nods his head understandingly in the same breath.

“You,” Ed fires back, recovering himself with grand effort, “should say something to Winry.”

It wasn’t his intention to sit and talk about feelings with Al this fine evening, but it seems that that is what is happening. Al’s ears go a little pink, but he’s got that Celebrity Calm mask on. Too bad Ed can see right through it; he could get places with a farce like that.

“Winry is…very focussed…on her degree right now,” Al says, voice quiet.

Ed scoffs. “What, and you’re not? You can be dedicated to more than one thing at a single time, y’know.”

Al shifts uncomfortably in his chair, eyes flicking down to the table. “She wants to go into it. She wants to _teach_ other people, when she gets older. She has everything mapped out, and I’m not a detour in it. I don’t _want_ to be a detour,” he adds, stubbornly.

“Right, you wanna be the main highway,” Ed offers, continuing the metaphor. “How d’you know you’re just a detour to her?”

Al says nothing, which is, in fact, saying quite a lot.

Ed huffs out a sigh, and reaches across the table to poke Al in the arm. “Look, Al. I’m sure you have some very reasonable holdups about this, just like I have some very reasonable holdups about _my_ thing. But if you’re lettin’ that stop you, you’re just a hypocrite. And besides:” here he smiles, confident at least in this. “If you’re nothing more than a _detour_ to her after all this, then she doesn’t deserve you anyway.”

There is silence in the small kitchen for a few moments, but then Al looks up at Ed with something bordering on a faint smile. “When did you get so smart, brother?”

Ed ruffles the cornfield gold of his hair affectionately, and then pushes his chair back. “I like to think of my intelligence as an onion,” he says grandly. “It just goes layers and layers deeper.”

“With a centre of bullshit?” Al suggests lightly.

Ed scowls at him. “It’s a very self-aware centre. A centre of _learning,_ if you will.”

“I will not,” Al says. “But I will give you a hug.”

Ed accepts it from his little brother, offering one in return. “This was fun.”

Al grins at him, just slightly, as Ed straightens his jacket. “I know how you love to talk about these things.”

Ed throws him the finger and then a wave, and shuts the door behind himself. Al’s still smiling when the last peek of him disappears behind the door, and that’s enough to power Ed through regardless of things like _Mustangs_ and _Portfolios._

-=-=-=-=-=-

Roy has always considered Ed to be very _bright;_ in intelligence, in looks, in personality, really any way in which you chose to describe him. But this week is beginning to push the envelope on that particular adjective, as Ed seems to be becoming more a bright blur of motion than actual human being.

It isn’t that Roy isn’t impressed, far from it. But even his coffee time is beginning to suffer, which irks him significantly, because he has made it very clear in the past that that is _Time with Ed._ A concept that Edward himself seems to be ignoring fantastically.

But he’s never once claimed to be anything other than a man of action, so when he sees a somewhat bedraggled-looking Edward dragging himself in after lunch, he gets straight to the point.

“Are you ignoring me?”

Ed gives him a look that Roy can’t really categorise as anything other than _hollow._

“I wish,” he says, reaching into his messenger bag and pulling out a manila folder bursting at the top.

Roy blinks at him. “What is that?”

“Your fucking portfolio,” Ed responds, in a perfectly even voice as he begins to lay out remnants and pictures in semi-organised piles. “Which I am trying to complete before we go to Fusion.”

Roy is having trouble holding the coffee against Ed when he looks like he personally needs some so desperately. He gets up and comes to stand beside him, looking at shoots he has forgotten about.

“Oh, that was a good one,” he says, pointing to a glossy photo taken some time in 2014.

Ed nods tiredly, brows pulled together, mouth tightly shut.

“Much as I appreciate this,” Roy tries, “you look a little frazzled. Do you want any help?”

The words seem to set some gunpowder trail off that leads into the remaining shreds of Ed’s calm demeanor. He looks up at Roy and the man can almost see explosions going off behind his eyes. Or…maybe that’s just an Edward thing? Roy shakes his head to clear that thought process.

“This needs to be done,” Ed’s voice is frighteningly absent of obscenities _or_ apostrophes. “Perfectly. I don’t trust you to be an objective judge of your own work.”

“Isn’t this just as much _your_ work?” Roy points out, frowning.

Ed waves a hand. “Sorta? But it’s my _job_ to do this, so I’m gonna do it.”

While Roy still wishes that Edward would accept help from him, he notes that his usual vernacular has slipped in again, and it relieves him enough to encourage Roy to drop it.

“Just…tell me if you want something?” He asks, rather than says.

Without looking up, Ed bites his lip and shuffles through a few identical looking photos. “Is ‘the bittersweet embrace of death’ an acceptable request?”

The corners of Roy’s mouth pull. “No, unfortunately, it is not.”

“Damn.” And then Ed actually does look up at him, and Roy doesn’t feel like much else than an idiot at the moment.

“Go back to doing stuff,” Ed orders, then blinks. “Oh, wait. Is it your coffee? Did you just come over here because I’d forgotten to get you your coffee?”

Roy holds up his hands, shaking his head for added effect. “No, no. Genuine concern and chivalry, I assure you.”

“Then you can go chivalrously back to your own work, Mustang.”

Roy doesn’t push the issue, but he casts the occasional concerned glance Edward’s way, especially as the stacks of paper and staplers grow so large it threatens to dwarf his perfectly-sized PA entirely. They both work in quiet; Roy on researching (stalking) Ling’s latest work, and Ed with…whatever portfolio work he has going on over there.

Admittedly, however, he misses his coffee.

-=-=-=-=-

Roy has never made any claims about being more intuitive than he actually is. He knows the bounds and limits of his own abilities, and generally enjoys using them.

But there is a slight hiccup in that ability this afternoon, and he’s uncertain as to what he should do about it.

Ed has not stopped working since _starting_ this morning. That _includes_ lunch break. He’s tried to do his level best and let Ed do what he feels necessary, but by 4 PM his patience has unraveled.

He brings them both back coffees and sets one down on Ed’s desk, perhaps with a little more force than necessary. Edward looks at the steaming drink, then his eyes flick wearily up to Roy’s.

“You,” Roy says, “drink.”

“Woof fuckin’ woof, sir,” Ed mutters, but he picks up the cup with both hands and drinks it. Roy winces slightly; surely that must hurt.

Roy surveys the somewhat more decisive pile of photos on one side of the desk, and gestures to their presence. “Gotten what you want?”

He’s so busy perusing the stack of pictures that he doesn’t immediately notice that Ed doesn’t reply, and when he does, it’s because Ed has set down his coffee and is staring at the desk.

Roy kneels down so they can be eye-to-eye, and tries again. “Ed?”

The thing about _Edward Elric_ is that his face can be saying nothing, and yet his eyes are telling whole stories. His face, when he looks at Roy, is still, but something in his eyes is chasing itself in agonised circles.

Roy tries to ignore the fact that all it would take is for him to lean across and they’d be kissing. He sternly reminds himself that something is clearly _wrong,_ and making passes at his staggeringly attractive PA will not help either of them.

So he says instead, “What’s wrong?”

Ed pens his mouth, then shuts it again. Roy has not yet touched his own coffee, and yet it feels like his nerves are buzzing.

“You’re my boss,” Edward says.

That’s not doing much to clear things up. “Is that really such a travesty?”

Immediately he knows it was the wrong thing to say, but he’s not sure why. Ed scowls and snaps a folder shut abruptly, and Roy knows with startling conviction that the conversation is over. “Thanks for the coffee.” Pause. “Roy.”

Roy doesn’t know why that makes his already tense nerves flicker like string lights. His mouth has gone a little dry, and the coffee in his left hand suddenly feels scalding.

“Let me know if you need anything,” he says, getting to his feet and trying to not feel like he’s completely missing something.

“Sure thing,” Ed says, attention lost again, and Roy knows that he really means, _Sure won’t._

It stings a little (maybe more than a little), but he lets it go and turns back to his desk area. He’s already strategising the first steps to take. He does not like feeling ignorant in any capacity.

He needs to find Maes.

-=-=-=-=-

Maes is predictably thrilled to be asked advice, and Roy is predictably regretting it. His old friend swivels in his chair, and then turns bright eyes on him.

“So that’s all he said?” He confirms.

“Yes. He called me his boss and then dismissed the conversation.”

“Hmm.”

“What?” Roy demands.

“Have you two ever talked about the semantics of your work relationship?”

“What do you mean?”

Maes waves a hand. There are several framed pictures of Elysia on the desk behind him, and Roy shifts uncomfortably. He feels like he’s being watched.

“Ed will never date you if he thinks of you as his boss,” Maes says bluntly. “That might be the biggest thing holding him back.”

Roy considers this. “But I’m _not_ his boss.” He flashes back a little guiltily to earlier. “But I sort of implied that I was.”

Maes gives him a look. “I think he sees it as more than an implication. Your statuses are different, your salaries, even your work hours. His purpose here is as your PA. to him, you’re probably his boss in everything but name.”

“But I’ll never able to change that while he works here.”

His friend’s eyes gleam. “But you can change his mind.”

“There was,” Roy adds, “Another thing.”

Maes watches him expectantly.

“At my last shoot, I met him while going to get some water. I think we almost kissed.”

“Just ‘almost’?”

“I thought he didn’t want to,” Roy confesses. “So, yes. Just almost.”

Maes continues to look at him, but Roy feels like he has suddenly been pegged as a lower class of intelligence than what he is used to.

And maybe it is a little ridiculous to be analyzing it so much, but something is definitely different; he can feel the change in the air even if he's confused on essentially everything else. Ed is so bright and moving and alive that it seems ridiculous that he would be stopping to angst over _a moment by the water cooler._

“Ed probably wants to kiss you,” Maes says with his normal cheerfulness and abnormal concision. “But think about things from his perspective.”

Roy tries to, and it’s not that he doesn’t _understand,_ but he is a little puzzled. “Is he worried that this is temporary?”

Maes considers this momentarily. “Probably more that you’ll break up with him and you’ll both be stuck in a tango of awkwardness until one of you quits or leaves the company.”

“Well,” Roy says.

“I’m not saying it’s going to be easy, but you should give him a reason to trust you.”

“I like to think I’ve already earned at least _some_ of his trust,” Roy answers, slightly affronted.

“Not in this area. This is an area neither of you have been willing to test the waters in before. It’s up to you to take the first plunge.”

Roy’s entire being feels like one enormous sigh for a moment, but then Maes picks up three of the pictures still lying on his desk and holds them up for Roy to see. “Look at my little girl-she was at a friend’s birthday party last week; isn’t her little party hat _the cutest?”_

Roy would frankly love to sit and fawn over Elysia, he really would, but he does honestly need to get back to work, and he’s gotten what he came for.

“She looks lovely,” he compliments, and then stands up and adjusts his shirtsleeve. “Thank you. For the advice.”

Maes waves a hand. “It’s very gratuitous, actually. You’re not the _only one_ who wants to see you and Ed together, you know.”

Roy’s eyes narrow. “Does anyone else know about this?”

“’This’ meaning the fact that you’re in love with Ed?”

Roy is not prone to flushing, which is why he feels a twinge of irritation at the knowledge that he currently is. “I’m not _in love_ with him.”

Maes just shrugs his shoulders and sets his pictures on the desk again. “You should come for dinner this weekend! Gracia would love to have you.”

Roy smiles slightly, recovering, and pushes his chair back in. “Perhaps I will.”

“Call ahead!” Maes calls after him, and Roy shuts the door with a _click!_

-=-=-=-=-

Roy doesn’t get back into their office until later, close to when he knows Ed usually leaves. Instead of finding him packing up his things, however, Ed is situated at his desk, still surrounded in work.

“Shouldn’t you be getting home?” Roy inquires, setting his back on his own chair.

Ed scoffs as if this is a joke that everyone but he finds hilarious. His nimble fingers slide a photo in on top of another, and then he _hmms_ to himself slightly and reverses their positions.

“You could finish it tomorrow,” Roy says in what is meant to be a kind voice.

At last, Ed looks up at him, and Roy suddenly realises with devastating conviction why Ed didn’t speak to him, choosing to let a scoff and silence do. His face is set with determination, but his eyes are just a bit too bright to be anything other than wet.

“Ed,” his voice is quieter. “Please go home.”

“I’m not _fucking going home_ yet, so will you please just drop it?” Ed snaps, looking back down at his work again and stubbornly avoiding Roy’s gaze.

The thing about Ed is that he is a lot of snarl, and very little snap. He is someone possessing tremendous patience, and though Roy does not know why, he has never once taken it for granted. And so if Ed is stressed, stressed, stressed, _and_ he snaps for the second time, Roy knows it's time to stop.

He slings on his jacket, resting on the end of his desk, and buttons the bottom button. “I’m going to get us some coffee,” he informs, still in that quiet voice. Like maybe Ed is some wild golden animal that startles a bit too easily.

Ed nods distractedly, and so Roy knows that he heard him speak. He heads out the door and sighs a little with his back against it when it closes, and then makes his way to the elevator.

-=-=-=-=-

When he gets back, it is obvious that Ed has not moved, but the same cannot be said for the work around him. Small piles in front of him on the desk, a trash can that is full to bursting sits by his feet, even a pile of highlighters and pens to his right. Roy sees two photos in particular, nearly identical but each with a yellow sticky note and a large **?** on them.

He hands Ed a steaming French roast, and waits for acknowledgement before speaking. “The times really are changing, you know. This is the second time I’ve brought you coffee in one day.”

Ed looks at the cup and smiles slightly, and that warms Roy up better than any hot caffeine ever could. “’S not like it doesn’t serve you right,” he dismisses before taking a sip.

Roy comes around to face what Ed is facing, and gestures to the two sticky-noted photos. “Does it really matter? They’re both good shots.”

“If you do say so yourself.” Now that he’s consumed a fair amount of coffee, Ed’s mood seems to be improving.

“I was referring to the skill of the photographer,” Roy responds loftily.

“So far I have about half of it,” Ed continues, either ignoring or too distracted to have heard him. “There’s gonna be eight shoots total, an’ it’s organised by style. Two casual, two formal, two natural, and two glamour,” he lists off using his fingers.

“That’s very well-thought-out,” Roy rejoins, impressed. “What precisely do you mean by ‘glamour’?”

“Well, it’s like,” Ed shuffles through the folder. “Shit, hold on.” He flips to the back and shows Roy photos from a shoot last year. He remembers it well; a Gatsby themed affair with him in an impeccably form-flattering suit, one hand in his pocket, the other holding a martini glass. It’s a gentle tribute to the famous image from the 2013 movie’s poster, but Roy is wearing his signature smile that’s a little less sweet and a little more sultry than DiCaprio’s was.

Roy looks it over for a second, then glances back at Ed. “But wouldn’t that go in the Formal category?”

Ed bites his lip, and Roy knows that he’s considered this already. “Well, see, it’s in a style and environment that you don’t usually do. Like, see the background, the colour, shit like that?”

Roy nods.

“That’s why it’s in there, not Formal. You usually do black and white-“

“But this is an explosion of colour,” Roy finishes.

“Right,” Ed nods, pleased that he’s gotten it.

“May I see the other ones?” Roy requests.

Ed looks at him oddly, and for a moment Roy thinks that he’s about to tell him No. But then his PA pushes his chair to the side and tells him, “Bring your chair over.”

Roy complies, shrugging off his jacket as he does so. 

They work side-by-side for what feels like a few minutes, but Roy knows that it’s in reality at least an hour. At first, he’s only allowed to look, but he wheedles his way into being allowed to organise the unused pictures and put them back where they belong in their assigned folder. Ed becomes gradually more tolerant as time goes by, though whether this is adaptability of due to the caffeine, Roy is uncertain.

It’s past nine when Ed closes the folder with a longsuffering sigh, draining the dregs of his coffee. “That’s done.”

Roy nods a trifle absently. “Shouldn’t we clean up your desk?”

Ed shrugs and stands up. “Nah. You should head home; you’ve had enough shit for one day.”

“It was no trouble,” Roy answers smoothly, standing up himself.

Ed looks like he’s fighting with himself for a moment, but Roy freezes as sudden arms are flung around him. Ed’s golden head burrows into his shoulder and Roy thinks that every point of contact is threatening to explode.

Ed lets him go before Roy’s arms can reciprocate, and his face looks incandescently red.

“Thanks,” Ed mutters. “Roy.”

He meets Roy’s gaze and a blind man would see the way his golden eyes flicker over his lips. But Roy knows how this will end. He knows, and the words are out before he can stop them.

“Why won’t you kiss me?”

But they both know he’s really saying, _Please, please kiss me._

Ed does not kiss him. He draws back and it is clear from his body language that this almost kills him. He picks up his messenger bag and adjusts it on his shoulder. His face is set, and more than a little sad. “You’re my fuckin’ boss, Mustang.” The words are like his, but the sound of them is foreign.

“I’m not.” Roy’s mouth is so dry. “I’m really not.”

“Thanks for the help,” Edward offers, clearly finished. He sweeps his eyes over the desk one last time and checks the buckle on his bag. “See you tomorrow.”

Roy wants to say something, a _lot_ of somethings, in fact, but all of them are too long and too convoluted to bother with right now. The one time that he needs to be concise is in the kind of situation where he can only be wordy. He lets Ed go out the door, but tosses the closing door a silent promise that they aren’t finished yet. In some ways, it’s probably a good thing that he didn’t get to say what he was thinking, because he has no idea what he would have said in the first place.

_I’m not your boss, but I am nervous._

_I’m not your boyfriend; I’m just the man that wants to be._

_I don’t want to scare you off, Ed, but I do want to draw you closer in. You are wonderful, you are funny, you are unapologetically sincere._

_So, do you think, maybe?_

_Do you think that we could ever work?_

Somewhere, far below, he hears the rumbling heave of an older engine, and knows it’s Ed pulling out. Sighing a little to himself, he grabbed his jacket and bag from his own desk area and turns off the lights as he goes through the hall.

Riza, it appears, has elected to work late as well, because he finds her in the hallway with a finger to her lip and a tablet resting on her arm.

She looks up at him, a little surprised when their eyes meet. “Roy. I didn’t expect to find you here so late.”

“I could tell you the same thing,” Roy remarks wryly, and she smiles.

“What were you working on that took so long?”

“My portfolio,” Roy explains, and she nods.

“The shoot next week, with Fusion, right? Maes has been keeping me in contact.”

There’s a beat of silence for a moment, and then his old friend, and the company’s manager, smiles at him again. She looks very nice when she smiles, Roy notes idly. What does her romantic life, if any, look like these days?

“I hope it goes well, Roy,” she tells him warmly. “I really think you’ve got an excellent chance here.”

“What-of beating Ling?”

She shrugs, and her smile edges on conspiratorial. “To be a part of this event, Roy.”

“Right, of course,” he nods, grinning back, then offers a quick salute. She raises her eyebrows at him. “I’ll see you soon, Riza.”

She inclines her head at him as the elevator door _dings!_ open. “And you.”

He leans against the elevator wall, relaxed if not completely rested. Some idiotic drivel of a pop song is playing from the speakers above, and his foot taps half unconsciously. The first floor is dim and still when he goes out the door, humming faintly to himself, and the sky is remarkably clear.

_I think that we would._

-=-=-=-=-=-


	6. Mamihlapinatapei

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> His head is still a whirl of every single thing that’s been happening for the last few days, and he can’t seem to pull himself out of the shrapnel long enough to think.

 

_"And I often wonder why the things that I want are so hard to find,_

_But I often fail to see the things that I need are right here by my side."_

-Sidekick, Walk the Moon

-=-=-=-=-

The trip to Manhattan, Ed considers, takes a good deal more pomp and circumstance than he thinks at all necessary. It’s not that Roy doesn’t deserve his little moment, but he doesn’t even know what the _preliminary_ shoot will consist of, let alone the shoot that the winner will do. So it seems a little superfluous to already be acting like it.

Still, Roy’s normally calm expression seems to be swimming in anticipation under the surface. Ed, who is already at the point of exhaustion and knows it’s only going to get worse, does not share this enthusiasm.

Havoc and Breda have already packed up, cameras lovingly stored in their respective cases. It’s usual to bring your photographers, or at least a couple of them, when you get invited to another company’s shoot, but Ed wonders if Fusion will provide enough to make them unnecessary.

He folds his arms. Not if he has any control over the situation.

Which, in all fairness, he probably will not.

They decided to take a train, partially because trains are the shit, but mostly because a single car can more than accommodate all of them. Ed just feels better being able to see (read: watch) everyone.

He sits next to Roy, flicking through the portfolio to check _one more time_ for the dozenth time. Glossy photo after glossy photo turns over, different variations of Roy’s face appearing each time. He wonders idly what Ling’s looks like. Surely Alphons would have requested one from him, too, given the circumstances.

He’s tirelessly researched (as has Roy, no doubt) Ling’s recent work. It’s not _stalking,_ it’s scoping out the situation.

What a Roy thing to think.

He turns his eyes to the man in question; Roy is watching the city, turned around in his seat. The sight makes Ed smile, just a little. It’s funny how Roy tries to appear so professional and yet anyone who actually knows him can tell that he’s barely more than a curious, fast-learning child.

_Holy shit,_ Ed blinks to himself. _I’m turning into their mom._

Jean laughs at something Breda says, shoving his shoulder good-naturedly. Roy turns around at the noise, and looks at Ed amusedly. “It appears they’re at ease.”

“Least someone is,” Ed mutters.

Roy adjusts his jacket. The day is really too warm for him to be wearing it, but the choice seems more to be aesthetic-based than practical, so that’s out anyway. “You don’t need to be so antsy.”

“Like you know,” Ed retorts, then tightens his lips. “Sorry. I am stressed. It’s dumb and makes me act shitty.”

“Don’t worry about it. Do they serve lunch on the train?” Roy inquires, eager to change the subject.

Ed blinks at him. “I mean, they do, but we’ll be arriving way before lunch.”

“Hmm,” Roy considers this, slightly disappointed, but at least it seems to have Ed’s mind focussed on food instead of his own guilt. It’s a dreadfully inconvenient thing to be concentrating on before lunch, Roy knows from experience.

Ed leans against his seat cushion, huffing out a sigh. His golden eyes drift lazily over to Roy’s, and it seems not even the suggestion of food is enough to lift his mood. “I just wanna get to Fusion,” he admits, bluntly. “I just really want to get this show on the road.”

Roy nods his understanding, lips pulling into a slight smile as he suggests, “Or maybe this show on the _train_.”

Ed kicks him. Roy knows he deserved it.

-=-=-=-=-

Fusion is every bit as clean and imposing as Ed’s google searches had hinted. It’s all clean lines and soft golden wood in the floors, very similar to the kind Al has in his apartment, but probably ten times more expensive. Ed had instructed the others to wait outside, and so it’s just he and Roy who approach the receptionist sitting inside. She smiles brightly at them, brown hair falling in a smooth wave down her back. “Can I help you?”

“Sure hope so. We’re here from Amestris,” Ed explains, handing her the printed slip of paper Alphons had sent him. “Says we have the 11:00.”

The girl looks it over briefly, eyes widening slightly as she looks back up at the two of them. “Oh, Amestris! Are you the only two coming today?”

“Nah, the whole crew’s outside, just didn’t want to overwhelm,” Ed answers once again, jerking a thumb towards the sliding doors.

The girl nods and types into the computer. “Mr. Archer should already be expecting you; he’s on floor 6,” she tells them.

Roy, who has hitherto been glancing subtly around and leaving the talking to Ed, smiles at her. “Should we go up alone, or bring everyone?”

She waves a hand. “Oh, go ahead and bring everyone. Mr. Archer likes to get a view of the complete picture.”

“I’m sure you’re correct,” Roy murmurs, watching Ed go out the door. There’s a few moments of him gesturing and saying something rendered inaudible by the doors, and then the glass slides open again and he troops back in. While saying ‘the crew’ sounds a little imposing, it’s really just Havoc, Breda and Miles. (Miles’ eyes had gone very wide when Ed had informed him that he was being requested to come along, but he hadn’t refused for a second.) Maes and probably Riza would come along later, but only if Roy won the shoot. There would be no need of them otherwise, and so the group at present is relatively small.

They all take the elevator up to the 6th floor, as instructed, and halfway there Roy realises how tightly Ed’s hands are clenched. It prompts Roy, standing next to him, to turn his head just a little. “There’s no need to be nervous,” he encourages; a postcard slipped under a door in its softness.

Ed breathes out through his nose, shrugging his shoulders. “I know that. I don’t actually know _why_ ‘m nervous.”

“Well, from what I saw, Frank Archer is as imposing as his industry,” Roy reminds.

“I guess,” Ed says, and then the doors are sliding open.

One thing he will remember about this, whether they win or lose or go home feeling completely unsatisfied, is the support everyone manages in the few seconds through that shiny-clean hallway. Havoc slaps his shoulder and says, “You’ve got this, chief.” Miles gives him a smile and a thumbs-up, and Breda flicks him a finger gun with his free hand. Roy simply walks beside him, close enough that Ed can feel his warmth through his shirt, and for once he has no complaints about _proximity._

The room they enter is laid out in the way of a studio apartment, with lots of floor and plenty of windows to let light in. There are several closets; clean white doors and minimalist silver handles with which one could pull them open. Several girls and one man are standing towards the back left windows, surrounded by New York sunlight and dressed in beautiful colours. Ed takes the lead, waiting politely until the man waves them away and they move towards the closets at the back.

“Beautiful work, Patricia,” he murmurs as they leave, and then levels a smile at Ed.

Immediately something in Ed bares its teeth a little, but he smoothes it away and accepts the offered handshake. “Edward Elric.”

“A pleasure,” the man returns, then glances at Roy and the crew. “I am Frank Archer. And you must be Roy Mustang.”

“Quite,” Roy agrees, shaking his hand with a smile.

The man has a decently tall build, slender but compact, with long, equally slender fingers of an almost fish-like coldness to them. His deep brown hair is carefully slicked back, and in a flattering style that helps to highlight his blue eyes and straight white teeth. He carries himself smoothly, like he’s always modelling, or maybe always aware of the presence of others. There’s a greasy sort of innocence to his face, a feature that Edward automatically distrusts. It seems a little unfair to so immediately peg a person, but trusting his gut in these matters has always proved to be vital.  He surveys the group with careful eyes, and Ed already feels like he’s a problem being solved. A set of numbers to be calculated. _If Edward Elric brings four men with him, and x is the likelihood that they will all prove useful to me, does that mean that I can cross Edward Elric himself out of the problem?_

But his look is pleasant enough as he gestures to the room around them, one hand resting in his pocket. “This is the room in which you and Ling will be working, mainly, although you’re very welcome to take advantage of the dining area and changing rooms, of course. I presume you will be staying in Manhattan for several days?” he inquires, turning his attention back to Ed.

“That’s right.” Alphons had been extremely helpful in recommending hotels that the team would be needing for the next few days, and they’d even booked rooms on the same floor. Ed wonders briefly where Alphons is in all this.

“Excellent.” Archer nods, as if satisfied. “I see that you brought your photographers with you.”

“Only if they’re necessary,” Ed respond.

The man’s shoulders roll in a graceful shrug. “They won’t be, but if it means that much to you, they’re certainly welcome to participate.”

Ed feels a bit snubbed. “Thanks.”

“Mr. Archer,” Roy cuts in smoothly, taking a step forward so that he’s next to Ed once again. “When will Yao be here?”

Archer glances at his watch; a brown leather concoction that probably cost Ed’s yearly salary. “About an hour,” he announces coolly. “Mr. Yao had a prior engagement; it’s a pity that you couldn’t arrive here together.” He says the word _together_ like it’s the title of a popular board game. “Until he arrives, I was hoping I could show you and Mr. Elric around.” His eyes flit to Havoc, Breda and Miles, waiting patiently to be needed for something. Havoc is looking at the windows as if admiring the architecture behind them. “It’s almost lunchtime, and I’m sure your crew is hungry. If you would like to eat in the dining hall, you’ll get a chance to become acquainted with the rest of the crew working on this project.”

Breda smiles, but Jean’s eyes flick over to Ed’s as if asking, _is that okay?_

Ed nods, and Jean glances back to Archer. “Sure thing. Mind showing us where it is?”

“Absolutely.” Archer immediately begins moving towards the door. “Gentlemen, if you’ll follow me.”

-=-=-=-=-

After leaving the three crewmembers getting food and casting a longing look at the buffet, Ed follows Archer back to the elevator, Roy just behind him.

“This facility isn’t actually as large as Amestris’, as I’m sure you’ve noticed,” Archer says conversationally as the floors tick by. “However, we employ more models on an annual basis.”

The door slides open on floor Six again, and they step out to follow him down the hallway. The door he opens for them leads to a different room than the one they were in before, but the layout is very similar. There are plenty of windows, and lots of natural light. It’s been set up, clearly, and Roy guesses it’s for the shoot.

“The idea here is to incorporate a child into your individual photoshoots that complements the style of whatever you choose,” Archer explains, stopping somewhere in the middle of the floor and gesturing around them. “You’ll both be in matching outfits, courtesy of some students who were working on a design project up until now. I trust you’ve picked the child working with you?” He inquires, eyebrows raised.

Roy nods his head. “If you don’t mind me asking, why did you let both of us choose who we modelled with? Don’t you already have a surplus of available child models?”

“Actually, no.” Archer shakes his head regretfully. “You see, most of the children are very restricted by their school schedules at this time, especially as their schools finish out. We often have to bring them in on weekends or forgo. We needed you both here today, Tuesday, because the fashion event is occurring on Friday.”

This makes sense to Ed, and he glances down at the floor, where two long lines of white tape are approximately five feet apart. “Is this like some sort of makeshift runway?” he wonders, gesturing down to it with one foot.

“That’s correct. It’s the one Roy and Ling will be using, since there’s no need to make use of the official runway.”

Ed bites his lip to hold back a grin at that; he knows Roy has been looking forward to using it. He has the oddest obsession with runways, actually, so maybe this’ll be good for him.

“These closets are where your clothes will be kept.” Archer begins moving again, not stopping until he’s in front of two, wide doors much like the ones in the other room. “You will both also have dressing rooms, of course.”

He opens the closet door to show them the clothes inside; it’s the door marked **Roy** in font as clean as the rest of the design. There are no suits, pants or shoes, but instead a silky looking child’s dress in a cheerful shade of yellow with flowers decorating the bottom. Roy inspects it for a brief moment, then turns back to Archer in puzzlement. “Am I to understand that the children’s clothes will be matching ours?”

Archer shakes his head. “Quite the opposite, Mr. Mustang. Your clothes will be chosen to match _theirs._ ”

-=-=-=-=-

Ed finally gets to have lunch after Archer finishes showing them the room, although most of the mashed potatoes are gone by the time he arrives, which proves irksome. Roy helps himself to a small scoop of them and a handful of purple grapes. Ed looks at his meagre portion across the table in distaste. “Are you trying to lose weight again?”

“’Again’ implies that there was a first time,” Roy responds loftily. “And as I’m sure you’re aware, models try to eat a relatively healthy diet at all times. These mashed potatoes are a splurge, in fact, but there wasn’t much of anything else left.”

Now Ed looks back down to his plate, which contains grapes, a large scoop of mashed potatoes, what appears to be meatballs dusted with parmesan cheese, and a roll. “Well, there might not be _now._ ”

Roy shakes his head, but there’s a smile hiding somewhere in the stony corners of his humourless life. Ed considers that if much of Roy’s attitude can be attributed to not eating, it really does explain quite a lot.

“Looking forward to things?” He inquires, pushing his bite of bread to the side of his mouth so that he can talk clearly.

Roy shrugs. “I’m more eager to get started. Apparently Archer wants to do this all today. I suspect he’ll be pushing some late hours.”

“The kids are supposed to arrive at 1:30,” Ed informs him. “Since they needed time to eat ‘n all. But Ling is supposed to get here first.”

“And when is that happening?” Roy asks.

“At whatever fucking time he feels like, I’m pretty sure.”

They share a snort.

Roy, who has finished his miniscule portions of food, stands up and brushes his front off. “Archer told me to come up after lunch for the fitting. Probably a poor choice, given that my stomach just expanded slightly, but.”

Ed rolls his eyes, glancing at Roy’s stomach in a manner that is meant to be _quick_ and not at all _lingering._ “You look fine.”

Roy smiles, straightening his back. “Why, thank you, Edward.”

“Fine like _garbage disposals!_ ” Ed calls after him. “They do their jobs, and they don’t talk!”

Several people stare as they pass him by, and Ed resist the urge to let out a colourful string of curses.

-=-=-=-=-

‘Whatever fucking time’ Ling feels like turns out to be only about ten minutes later, when Ed is just scraping his plate into the trash. He arrives in a glory of well-styled hair and Cheshire cat grins. Lan Fan walks just behind and to the side of him, cellphone held in one hand as if ready to take measures the second they’re required.

Ed cautiously exits the kitchen area, to where Ling has entered the floor’s main atrium.

Ling has the sort of face that Ed would almost equate with Archer’s; almost, because while they bear the same sort of forced innocence, Ling’s is not worrisome. It does not incite Ed to immediately be on guard, think through all his words, stay just in front of Roy.

His face immediately bursts into a bright smile, and he comes _running_ like a five year old down the hall and across the room. This continues in a manner much like a horror movie until he can throw his arms around Ed in a manner which makes the recipient want to rip his head off.

“ _Ed.”_ He fucking _coos_ the word, drawing back (finally) a moment later to leave his hands on Ed’s shoulders. “It’s been such a long time.” His hands _immediately_ slide down to Edward’s hands, taking them both in his own. Ed feels rather like a drowning cat.

Lan Fan chooses then to step forth, her quiet face almost regal next to Ling’s. Her footfalls are so quiet as to be almost inaudible, and she nods her head at Ed. “Edward. It’s nice to see you again.”

“Yeah, you too,” Ed nods back, inching his way towards things like _safety_ and _personal space._ Ling just follows him like a deranged puppy. “Nicer than seeing _some_ people,” he adds meaningfully. So what if it’s a petty response; it’s not like _Mr. Yao_ over here is in any way making the attempt to be the mature one here.

“Ed?” The strong, clear voice comes down the hallway to precede its owner. Footsteps are clearly heard; louder than Lan Fan’s and much slower than Ling’s. Roy appears around the corner in a glory of familiarity and crisp white shirt. His eyebrows lift questioningly when he takes in the sigh of Ling and Ed.

Ed blinks a little, relief washing over him. He strides over to where Roy is standing, all out of shits to give about what the two newcomers think of this. He stops several feet away, perhaps to provide certain people a lesson in personal space, and takes the folder Roy is offering him. “What’s up?”

Roy is still looking down at him with a slightly confused expression in his eyes, but he seems to get the hint and pushes forward. “Archer needs you to sign the secondary agreement papers for Elysia being allowed in the shoot before she arrives.”

“Gotcha.” Pulling the pen out of his clipboard, Ed pulls the papers out of it and signs the dotted line below. It’s a bunch of legal garbage that essentially adds up to _Elysia Hughes may be present for the photographs including Roy Mustang as part of the 2016 shoot conducted by Fusion._ See, that isn’t so hard to say in simpler terms, is it?

When it’s signed, albeit a little messily, it’s not his _fault_ that gravity doesn’t like him, he puts them back in their folder and hands it back to Roy. Only then do they both turn their attention back to Ling.

He in turn glances between the two of them, looking amused. "What _mamihlapinatapai_ is this?" turning his dark eyes towards Lan Fan, he inquires. Ed privately finds it unfair that he didn’t attempt to jump _Roy’s_ bones.

"Mammary what now?" Ed demands.

Ling just shakes his head in a particularly irritating manner, as if Ed is a small child that has much yet to learn in the ways of the world. Or the ways of weirdass words that fucking _no one_ knows except himself, and you just _know_ that the milk-guzzler is glorifying in that fact. He comes forward and shakes hands with Roy (apparently rivals actually respect each other) and then puts his hands behind his back in an excited fashion. “Are you guys excited for today? Lan Fan and I are _super_ psyched about it.”

Ed’s eyes dart towards Lan Fan, swallowing a laugh at her deadpan expression. Yeah, she looks excited about this whole thing alright.

Roy just levels him with his model’s smile. “Quite excited.”

“You’re coming to dinner, aren’t you?” Ling looks back and forth between them. “Right?”

Ed sighs. “Tragically.”

Ling claps him on the shoulder, inspiring Ed to nearly rip his hand off, but he’s saved by Lan Fan pulling him back and next to herself. He continues talking while it’s occurring, as if nothing is going on. “Don’t say that! I haven’t seen either of you in _way_ too long.”

“Are you not concerned at all that they’re announcing the winner at _dinner_ tonight?” Ed demands.

Ling shrugs gracefully. “That’s all semantics, isn’t it? We’re here to get to know each other better, and get more experience.”

_Well, I’m here to kick your ass,_ Roy thinks in the safety of his own head. He abruptly realises that it’s a very Ed thing to think, and glances over to his PA. Ed has made no attempts to reach after Ling, but he does look as if he’s seriously considering it.

“What time _is_ dinner, actually?” Ling inquires.

“7:00,” Ed responds. Dinnertime was the first thing he made the effort to memorise on the day’s agenda.

Roy seems to detect this fact, and smiles slightly. “I’m certainly looking forward to it.”

“Me, too,” Ling sighs. “I heard there would be Italian.”

An alarm on Ed’s phone begins to beep, and he hastily pulls it out of his pocket and silences it. “Elysia should be here,” he announces.

“That means May Chang should be, too,” Ling sounds delighted. “Lan Fan, I want to go down to see her.”

“Back where we came from, then,” since she was standing behind him, she leads the way back and Ling follows after her with almost childish enthusiasm. Appropriate, considering who he’s going to see.

Ed looks at Roy. “D’you wanna go see Elysia? She’ll be excited to see you.”

Roy sighs slightly, adjusting his shirt. “Might as well; she’ll be the first uplifting part of my day.”

“Wasn’t that when you got on the elevator?”

-=-=-=-=-

The next few hours feel like a colourful blur of motion. It turns out that Ling and Roy’s clothes are chosen based on the _child’s_ outfit, which has been pre-determined. It’s then their choice to choose from the individual closets of matching clothes, and slipping on a suit jacket has never felt weightier. It’s late afternoon before the actual shoots are ready to take place.

Ed encounters Alphons again in the main room; the first nice surprise of his day. He’s carrying his own clipboard and his hair seems a little windblown, probably from all the running around he’s been doing.

“Don’t know how I haven’t seen you earlier today,” Ed begins, offering him a grin and a bump of the knuckles. The latter feels like an unprofessional, if natural gesture, but Alphons doesn’t seem to mind in the least.

“Well, I’ve been pretty cooped up,” the other boy confesses. “Mr. Archer needed all that paperwork scanned and filed away, and then I was helping to make sure the rooms were ready and there were no other appointments this afternoon.”

“You seem to have a pretty wide range of jobs, for an agent,” Ed notes, impressed.

Alphons lifts his hands in a shrug. “On days like these, there really aren’t specific roles unless you’re Mr. Archer. We just all work to bring everything together.”

“You deserve a break,” Ed informs him. “There’s orange juice where we’re supposed to be sitting.”

“I really can’t,” Al responds regretfully.

“Why not?”

“Because Mr. Archer will think I’m slacking off!”

“Psh, _I’ll_ handle ‘im, then. He’s right over there, anyway.” Ed points to where the man is indeed seated, oddly close to the back of the room. Maybe he just likes to get a full view? “Sit down and drink orange juice,” Ed commands.

Alphons rolls his eyes in a longsuffering manner, but he heads over to where Ed has pointed him and sits in one of the empty chairs. Ed joins him a few moments later, and pours himself a hefty glass of orange juice. It was quite cold, and therefore quite refreshing.

“You guys have done a great job,” he tells Al, when he’s had his fill. “The place looks great.”

“Oh, you think?” Alphons smiles. “I hope so; we put a lot of work into it.”

“It’s great,” Ed tells him again. “Really great.”

The photographers who accompany Ling’s shoot are all ones Ed has never seen before, but he didn’t see them come in with Ling and so can only assume Archer provided them. May Chang, the little girl Ling chose, is admittedly not half bad in a smart yellow suit, her dark hair in a bun on her head. Ling is accordingly wearing a pair of soft yellow slacks and collared shirt. They make an engaging pair, Ed has to admit, and they seem to be having fun as they walk down the makeshift runway together.

Roy must have been getting ready while this was happening, because not five minutes later Havoc and Breda pop out, cameras ready and faces excited. Breda waves when he sees Ed, and Ed offers a tentative one in return. It’s not that he’s _nervous,_ well, not _that_ nervous, but he didn’t get the chance to see Roy _or_ Elysia, and really has no idea what to expect. Ling could have sabotaged their closets for all Ed knows, and Roy would probably be too distracted to even notice.

He needn’t have worried.

Heralded by Havoc and Breda, the door opens once again and Roy makes a smooth entrance. Elysia walks beside him, her tiny hand clasped in his, wearing a fluttering dress in a cheerful shade of yellow that sets off her soft hair and is trailed by flowers all along the bottom of the dress. Roy’s blue pants match the tiny flowers on Elysia’s dress, and he walks at her pace down the runway made of two strips of tape and hardwood floor like she’s a princess. She’s bright-eyed and full of smiles, and it seems to be a contagious effect; Roy’s smile is real and utterly disarming. Someone (probably Havoc, possibly Breda) wolf-whistles and Roy’s expression doesn’t even break. The cameras snap, Elysia is practically pulling Roy behind her, and Ed settles back with a satisfied expression.

“She’s quite adorable,” Alphons admits freely.

Ed grins. “She’s great. She calls him ‘Uncle Roy’.”

“But no blood relation, I trust?”

“Not a drop,” Ed tell him. “Orange juice?”

When Roy gets to the end of the runway, they turn around and head back the way they came. After they’ve disappeared, Havoc and Breda get the chance to rest their tired arms, and Alphons looks over. “That was a great job. My money’s on him.”

Maybe it’s the orange juice, but Ed is feeling optimistic. “Me, too. Though I guess I kind of owe it to him to think that.”

“I guess you don’t _owe_ it, but it’s quite understandable to feel it,” Al offers mildly.

“Speaking of feeling,” Ed begins, noting his rumbling stomach, “are you coming to dinner tonight?”

Alphons shakes his head regretfully. “It’s just the models and their PAs.”

“Well, shit. That sucks. You’d be the best one out of all of them.”

Now it’s Alphons’ turn to grin, but his phone abruptly chimes with an alert, and he stands up. “That’s Mr. Archer; probably wants me for something.”

Ed turns his head to look around. “Wasn’t he just in here?”

“Yes, but he left as soon as Roy went off,” Al responds absently. “He’s a busy person; he likes to be that way.”

“I can see that,” Ed says, perhaps a bit more darkly than necessary.

-=-=-=-=-

It’s easily half an hour later when he knocks on Roy’s dressing room door; a remarkably polite gesture given his, well, personality. Roy answers after a perfunctory, “Coming!” and the hallway floods with warm light. Roy’s back in his regular clothes, which, while still dressy, look somehow more suitable and flattering than his model’s clothes. Ed likes the look of them better, at least; it’s more natural and Roy seems to feel more himself in them.

“Ah, Edward. Do come in.” He shuts the door behind the two of them and adjusts his shirtsleeve. Apparently the ensemble wasn’t quite complete?

“We’re leavin’ for dinner in about twenty,” Ed informs him, trying not to look at the way Roy’s smooth throat ends in white shirt collar, arms slipping lovingly out from where his sleeves are rolled up. It’s true that Roy looks more comfortable in his regular clothes, but he still somehow manages to convey the idea that he’s still modelling. Ed isn’t sure as to whether that’s a result of his personality, or if he actually is trying to convey that appearance.

“Excellent,” Roy interrupts his internal monologue. “Who’s coming?”

“You, Ling, Lan Fan, Archer, ‘n me.” Ed ticks them off using his fingers.

Roy looks disappointed. “Elysia just couldn’t come along,” he sighs.

Ed gives him a look. “They’re serving _wine._ And steak.”

His coworker holds up his hands innocently. “I would have eaten a steak, were it offered to me, when I was her age.”

“Yeah, well, you’re fucking weird, so.” Ed shrugs. “Guess it just comes with bein’ yourself.”

“I like to think ‘being myself’ has gotten me quite far in life,” Roy returns, pretending to be offended.

Ed spins a finger next to his temple. “All part of the delusion, I promise you.”

“Are you suggesting people felt _sorry_ for me and gave me jobs?”

They’re so close, and the only light really being emitted is coming from the lamp on the table in the corner of the room. It really is a somewhat old-fashioned setup, Ed notes, feverishly trying to distract himself from the fact that he’s supposed to be thinking up with something witty and not losing all ability to think instead. He opens his mouth to speak, but the only thing he can come up with is, “Pity jobs. Like sympathy blowjobs in gas station bathrooms.”

There must be a foot of distance between them, and Ed is praying to any deity that’s listening that the dart of his eyes to Roy’s fucking _decadent_ looking mouth wasn’t noticeable. That Roy is just staring at him because he’s offended, because he didn’t get Ed’s joke, because he _wants to let Ed get in a fucking breath of air._

Roy raises his eyebrows. Presses his lips together. Then out it comes, smooth as a fucking newborn. “Why won’t you kiss me?”

Ed exhales. In a way, it’s almost refreshing. It’s nice to be frank, even if the frankness of it is the thing heating up the tips of your ears and making your tongue feel like molasses. “Because you’re my fuckin’ _boss,_ Mustang.” He pulls the portfolio out of the bag slung at his side, possibly as a way to avoid Roy’s tightening eyebrows and disagreeing thoughts. He offers Roy the portfolio, all gloss and memento now. “I brought you your stuff,” he announces, changing the subject, because these thoughts of Roy, if left unchecked, will ruin him. “Thought you might like it to look at or somethin’ every now and again.”

Roy, to his credit, takes the book and glances through it. The golden light of the lamp glows against his silky black hair, making his normally pale skin look almost translucent. Ed looks to the side, where Roy’s jacket is neatly hung up.

"You know Ling Yao, my competitor, is sleeping with his PA, right?" His voice is calm, almost casual. Ed turns to him and stares, but Roy is flipping through the precisely-organised portfolio,  eyes sharp in the low light. He looks up like he's just noticed Ed's presence. _Just_ noticed him standing there fucking pining like a middle schooler. "It's common knowledge, actually."

Ed levels him with a look. He didn’t come here to just sleep with people. "So?"

Roy's heart feels like it has fallen between his ribs, out his chest and splattered onto the floor in a bloody wreckage. Maybe it's appropriate; people used to rip offerings apart before bringing them to the object of their worship.

“I don’t want to force the subject,” he says, deciding to continue the trend of being blunt. “I see you in the mornings, and you bring me coffee, and you look at me like there’s nobody else in the whole damn city, and I’m sure I can prove to be a demanding coworker at times, but that’s never seemed to have challenged you. And you stay up to work late nights with me, and we go to less-than-reputable stores to buy snack foods.” He hopes the desperation thrumming through his every nerve hasn’t made it out of his voice. “You are _brilliant,_ Ed, and no one will ever bother to deny it. And I don’t know if or how I could possibly have captured the interest of that brain, but I would stake my career in the firmness of my belief that you _do_ return my feelings.”

Ed has watched him this whole time, golden eyes narrowed just slightly. His hands clench tighter and tighter at his sides, and by the time Roy finishes, they must be rather painful. He looks like an animal in a trap, which is an expression that Roy absolutely _despises,_ and then despises himself for causing Ed to feel that way in the first place.

When Edward doesn’t speak for several moments, the silence borders on deafening. Instead of quiet, though, Roy just hears an intimate repeat of everything he’s just said, in the most accusing tone possible. The fact that he’s possibly fucked himself over and disgusted the person he has been in love with for months makes his throat go dry.

“I can’t do this right now, Mustang,” is what Ed finally says. His voice is low, and dangerous, and there’s a hint of something else that Roy can’t quite decipher. Like a smell in the air that can’t be identified because there’s so many _others_ with it.

Roy straightens his shoulders, refuses to bow his head, clears his throat. “Understood. When would you like to leave, and do we have the directions?”

Ed blinks, but he doesn’t buck at Roy’s usage of the word _we,_ which is at least something. “Uh, five minutes. Take a shit or brush your hair or whatever and we’ll head down. And yeah, I got the directions from Google.”

The atmosphere between them is still tense, but Roy is determined to power through it. And besides, if he wants a distraction, the fact that Archer will be announcing the winner dangles over his head like a tantalising, if agonising piñata. And were Roy to start hitting it, the only thing he’d want to come out was slips of paper, each with his name written on them.

He excuses himself to the bathroom, not because he really needs to, but because Ed really looks like he needs a few minutes to breathe. Everything feels a little heavy, but Ed’s response hadn’t been an outright refusal, and that’s the only thing he can bank on now.

By the time he comes out again, hands clean and just a little damp, Ed is waiting for him at the door with what looks like a normal expression. He swings the car keys around his finger, and offers Roy the smallest semblance of a grin. “Let’s go see if we kicked Ling Yao’s modelling _ass._ ”

“A fine suggestion,” Roy returns with a smile, and follows him out.

-=-=-=-=-

For no reason whatsoever, Ed hasn’t had that many chances to eat Italian food up until this point. Sure, he’s had meatballs and spaghetti and there were those meat things at lunch, but this is _real_ Italian food. There’s fresh bread scrubbed with garlic and a menu overflowing with options of Italian-cooked seafood, pasta, and salad. Ed isn’t sure how good the seafood will be given this part of the country, but he’d be willing to give it a try if the waiters carrying by trays of steaming food are to be trusted for anything.

“Party of five,” Archer announces in his smooth voice to the woman at the front. “We have a reservation under the name Archer?”

She taps a few keys on the computer, and nods, almost as if to herself. She glances up again as a waiter comes to the spot bearing several menus. “Hank will show you to your table.”

Ed follows behind the waiter as he weaves through the crowded tables; somehow he ended up first in the line. Probably his hunger leading him into unknown places. But hey, if the places have food, they’re not really so unknown, are they?

“You can feel the atmosphere getting tenser and tenser,” Roy murmurs behind him, making Ed jump a little.

Scowling, he rubs at his ear and turns his head slightly. “Guess so. Getting’ nervous?”

Roy smiles magnanimously. “On the contrary.”

“Uhuh. Well, if the nerves get to your stomach and you can’t eat, I’ll finish it off for you.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Roy responds to his offer drily.

Ed flashes him a grin, and then they slide into the wine-coloured bench seats. Ling and Lan Fan take the chairs across from them, and Archer sits at the ‘head’ of the square table. Ed considers that it’s really only fitting given his personality. He should have sat there; it would provide some nice bonding time for Roy and _Frank_ if they could sit together. He realises that this thought is prompting another grin, and quickly wipes it off his expression.

The waiter, (Hank, was it?) hands them all glossy menus and pulls out his notepad. “Anything I can start you off with to drink?” He glances around the table expectantly.

“How’s your merlot?” Roy inquires, glancing up from the wine list on the back of his menu.

“Excellent, sir,” Hank scans his own notepad. “I personally recommend the 2006 variety.”

“Wonderful. A glass of that, then, if you please.”

While their redheaded waiter is writing that down, Ling murmurs something in Lan Fan’s ear and she nods. It reminds Ed of Roy’s previous statement; _they’re sleeping together: it’s common knowledge._ Here in this restaurant, they might very easily be perceived as a couple. Though that’s probably due more to how close Ling is sitting next to her and how he won’t stop smiling at her rather than anything Lan Fan is guilty of. It makes him wonder what it’s like to live like that; Ling looks like he doesn’t care much about winning or losing the competition at all; although Ed knows that that can’t be the case from what he knows of Ling. But he isn’t tense, hasn’t shown a single sign of worry this whole time. It’s too weird of a thought to consider that _Ling Yao_ has found something that appeals to him more than winning. 

 Ling looks back up at Hank and suggests, “Two glasses of the chardonnay?”

“Absolutely.”

“Just ice water, if you please,” from Archer.

Now it’s Ed’s turn, and he has no idea what any of this fancy wine business means. As such, the first thing his graceful brain can blurt out is, “You got anything good on tap?”

The waiter blinks at this, but regains his composure almost instantaneously. “I’m sure we do- do you have a selection from your list?”

Ed lets it drop back onto the table. “Surprise me. First test of loyalty.”

“I accept that challenge,” Hank smiles cheerfully, and departs through the wooden door at the back.

“Not much of an alcohol person, Edward?” It’s Lan Fan who asks the question, dark eyes levelling the question at him.

He shrugs. “I like a beer every now an’ then, but otherwise, not really.”

“What do you sustain yourself with, then?” Now it’s Archer. “Milk?”

Ed makes a face. “Ew, no. That sh-stuff can’t be trusted. I don’t know why _anyone_ drinks it.”

“Bone strength, probably,” Roy suggests.

“Sardines’ll do that, too, without any of that dairy stuff,” Ed retorts.

There’s a moment of silence across the table, and then Ed is reminded of the existence of his menu as Archer turns his over and inquires, “What looks good?”

-=-=-=-=-

Ed ends up getting the lasagna; it looks pretty good from the picture on the menu and comes at a decent portion size. Roy sticks with linguine, Lan Fan chooses the tomato and anchovy salad, and Ling contents himself with shrimp and pepper pizza.

“I love pizza,” he informs them, before tearing into a bite. “It’s one of the greatest inventions man has thought of.”

Archer also went in a more seafood strain of things, and ordered grilled fish with artichoke capo-something. It looks good, certainly, but Ed’s not a huge fan of artichokes and is quite happy with his lasagna.

It seems that Archer has elected to hold off on discussing things like _winning and losing_ until after dinner, presumably when no food can get knocked over from the force of someone’s defeated fist hitting the table. Ed thinks that would be ridiculous, but also that that _is_ something he would probably do thoughtlessly. Roy had better win this.

However, after Hank has come by again to clear their plates, and inquired as to anyone’s interest in dessert (Ed went with gelato, Ling and Roy both ordered tiramisu), Archer sits back a little and wipes his mouth. (It wasn’t dirty to begin with.)

“Before we begin, I want to make note of the fact that I was impressed with both of you. While I did expect both of you to rise to the challenge, both of you remained remarkably cool and unruffled throughout the process.”

_Unruffled is one word for it,_ thinks Ed. He can feel Roy tensing beside him, and unthinkingly Ed pats his thigh under the table. Roy doesn’t turn to look at him, which is nice because as soon as Ed realises what he’s done he takes several sips of beer and hopes he hasn’t gone red. But he sees the tiny smile around the corners of Roy’s mouth, and it’s nice to see that he’s at least relaxed a little.

“I appreciate you both coming to my studio under the circumstances, and working in an environment that was, no doubt, different to what you were accustomed to.”

_Please just get to the point,_ Ed sighs.

Archer looks at Ling. “Your clothing choices were superb. They went with the mood of the shoot _and_ your child’s clothes.” Then at Roy, “Your chemistry with the child you selected was disarmingly natural, and it was obvious that you both relaxed each other.” Then to Ed and Lan Fan, “There will be copies of both shoots for you to take home, if you so desire. They’re excellent photos and would do well on any portfolio.”

Lan Fan nods her head. Ed just says, “Thanks.”

“Although the things I’ve mentioned were pivotal in my selection, they weren’t the only ones,” Frank continues, perfectly at ease. He seems to have absolutely no care for how long he takes or who comes out on top in any regard. Maybe he’s purposefully drawing it out; the man’s admittedly hard to read.

“It was ultimately for the diligence I saw demonstrated by the team, which allowed the man himself to accomplish his goals that I have chosen Roy. I believe that they will handle the rush, the spirit, and the atmosphere of our charity event quite admirably.”

 

 

There’s silence around the table for a moment or two, like no one’s yet grasped that Archer’s actually, _finally_ said who won. When life returns to all of them, and Roy has come out of his slight daze; ( _he said my name, right? It was mine?_ ) that he realises that Ed is clapping him on the back with a grin bright enough to outdistance the stars. Ling just shrugs his shoulders, albeit gracefully, and offers a handshake across the table.

“I’ll have to see these photos of yours,” he says as Roy accepts the gesture. “They must really have been amazing.”

“I should hope so,” Roy smiles, gracious, his insides bubbling like they’ve been replaced by champagne.

Archer also offers him a handshake, but there’s still no warmth, no brightness in the gesture. It’s almost perfunctory, and Roy is left wondering if maybe Archer didn’t want him to be the one who won, after all. Or maybe he really just was that neutral about it; perhaps the strain of carrying Fusion has dominated all his levels of caring.

Their dessert arrives, and Ling actually cuts his cake in half and offers it to Lan Fan. She accepts two small bites of it, and then pushes the plate away. “I’m not hungry anymore,” she announces.

Ling graciously accepts it back, and finishes his own plate as Ed is nearly finished wolfing down his cold treat. After noticing his gesture to Lan Fan, he turns guiltily to Roy and swallows before asking, “…Did you want any gelato?”

“No, thank you. I’ve had quite the sufficiency between my wine and my linguine.”

The atmosphere hasn’t entirely cleared between them; there’s a fog that Ed just can’t get around, and no amount of fancy food or reality of winning seems able to change that. There’s still a seriousness behind the sheen of triumph in Roy’s eyes, and Ed can guess what’s causing it.

He doesn’t have many answers, besides that guess, though. His head is still a whirl of every single thing that’s been happening for the last few days, and he can’t seem to pull himself out of the shrapnel long enough to think. It’s not that he doesn’t want Roy; _God,_ but he does, but Edward Elric hasn’t had a really nice thing in a long time, unless you count Al, and it’s a little hard to accept that something might finally be going his way. Sitting next to Roy like this, with his smiling face and easy graciousness that Ed could never seem to get the hang of seems more like a cruel taunt than a tantalising promise. Always the argument in his head goes back to the word _boss,_ and so that is the one that comes out of his mouth. But maybe, he considers with his last spoonful of gelato, that isn’t the reason actually holding him back.

It’s been a night, that followed quite a day, but Ed knows his brain isn’t shutting down any time soon. He sneaks a glance at Roy, who’s saying something to Archer, and glances back down to his now empty bowl.

The thing holding him back appears to be Edward Elric himself.

-=-=-=-=-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. Mamihlapinatapei: The shared look of desire between two people, each unwilling to make the first move  
> 2\. Despite being the longest chapter yet, I still feel like it was really…rushed? If you need something clarified or just don’t understand what’s going on, just send me a comment and I’ll clear it up for you.   
> 3\. Guys, this piece of shit was supposed to be 25,000 words _tops ___. Clearly that wasn’t able to happen…but we only have two chapters left to go, and one of them is already completely written! Thanks for sticking through it with me. :D


	7. Text Messages and Plans

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Suffice it to say that I want you as my PA, and much more, for as long as you’ll possibly have me.”

_"Take me with you, 'cause even by yourself,_

_My love, you are somethin' else."_  

 

-Portugal, Walk the Moon

-=-=-=-=-

Has Edward ever brought up to someone of note in his life that he hates early mornings? Besides Al, of course. It’s a little hard not to figure out when you come into the kitchen and your brother is swearing at the milk carton. Not even touching it. Just swearing.

He’s probably mentioned it before, but a good reminder always serves everyone for the best.

Which is why he remarks to the others at 8:00 AM with a splitting yawn outside the door, “Mornings fuckin’ _suck_.”

Kain just gives him a weary look, but Jean nods, glancing up from where he’s been rifling through the contents of his camera bag. You’d think it would be pretty obvious if he lost something of that size, but in fairness Ed doesn’t know _what_ all he keeps in there.

Roy had insisted on stopping for coffee on the way, even though Ed had discovered a perfectly good coffee machine in Fusion yesterday. Not that he’s complaining about the caffeine, but really. They could be having _free_ caffeine, you know?

“They’re not unbearable,” Roy disagrees neutrally.

“Of _course_ you’d be an early riser,” Ed grumbles, chugging at his coffee as if pretending it’s still _there_ will make it somehow magically reappear.

“I’m really not, actually. But mornings are rather nice, aren’t they?”

Ed can no longer bear this pretentiousness, so he sticks his foot out rebelliously and the automatic doors slide open obligingly. Archer requested some sort of powwow between the models and their PAs, and so with a halfhearted wave at their crewmembers, Ed tosses his empty cup in the trash and heads towards the elevator.

“Floor six,” he sighs, like the words are the worst fate he could think of. “Why is it always floor six?”

“Maybe he wanted to keep the rest of them clean,” Roy suggests. Ed glances out of the corner of his eye to see if Roy has finished his coffee (he has) and furthermore if he looks like he wants any more (hard to tell).

The room that he assumes they’re meant to enter judging by the open door is surprisingly small, with a couch and a few chairs. Ling has claimed the couch (and the longsuffering Lan Fan has followed), so they take two of the chairs.

“Where’s Archer?” Ed inquires to no one in particular.

“Bathroom, if you can believe it,” Ling answers. “Who knew he’d stoop to such human things as taking a shit?”

 _I do not like him, I do not like him,_ Ed reminds himself.

“I doubt that’s going to help your case,” Lan Fan remarks.

“What case” Ed demands, voicing Roy’s thoughts.

“Mr. Yao has expressed interest in being part of the shoot,” a new voice interrupts.

Ed’s eyes dart over to where Archer has entered the room and gracefully takes a seat in the remaining chair.

“What? But Roy won, didn’t he?” Roy shoots him a look, but Ed refuses to be quelled.

“He did,” Archer confirms smoothly. “However, Lan Fan had a proposal to make.”

“Yeah? Prompted by you, I’m sure,” Ed casts an accusing look at Roy’s rival, and gets a grin for his trouble.

“Ed, hear her out.” Roy’s voice is quiet.

Archer seems to agree, so Lan Fan straightens in her seat. “Mr. Yao coming here originated in an agreement he made with his father: that if he could provide photographic evidence of his presence happening in the shoot tonight, his father would give him a full-time job.”

“Not that that sounds so appealing to me,” Ling adds. “But it’s a secure job and it pays pretty well.”

“Surely someone such as yourself would be able to work elsewhere with little difficulty?” Roy’s tones are cool.

Ling shrugs. “Hate to seem greedy.”

“You seem to have no problem seeming petty,” Ed notes.

“You’re probably right about that,” Ling says cheerfully.

“Regardless,” Lan Fan continues, calm voice cutting over the conversation seamlessly. “My proposal is that Ling be allowed to go on just long enough to secure pictures. Archer’s summer collection will follow, and then Roy will close out. You still get your victory, and Ling gets to keep his job.”

There is silence for a few moments as everyone mulls it over.

“I have no problem with this plan.” Roy is the first to speak.

Ed blinks. Archer looks relieved, which is perhaps the first human emotion he’s demonstrated. “Thank you, Roy.”

“Was that all that needed to be discussed? I’m sure we have a busy schedule for the day.”

“We do,” Archer confirms. “To be truthful, I expected this conversation to last longer.”

“Understandably so,” Roy responds smoothly, standing. “Ed, do you mind if we speak outside for a moment?”

“Right behind you. We’ll be right back.”

When the door has shut and they’ve moved a few steps down the hall, Ed turns around. “What the hell, Roy?” His voice is a hissing whisper.

“What else was I supposed to do, Edward? Throw a tantrum?”

“Obviously Ling did!”

“Probably a slight exaggeration,” Roy says, but not unkindly. “It’s just…it’s not really a big deal, Ed.”

“You’re a big deal,” is what the PA retorts.

“I’m flattered. But the alternative was to look like an asshole.” Ed doesn’t think he’s ever heard Roy use that word before.

“So you just did it for practical reasons?”

Roy pauses. Ed sighs. “You goodhearted fuck.”

A smile pokes through the line of Roy’s mouth. “I’m never sure how to respond to these types of compliments.”

“I have no idea how much I’ll see you or your progress today,” Ed responds, changing tacks. It’s that or indulge in more emotional discussion. “So, uh, good luck, I guess.”

“And to you,” Roy answers magnanimously.

There is a beat of silence. Now would be the perfect opportunity; Ed’s been mulling over this for _hours-_

“We should, uh, probably get back in there now.” Is what comes out of his stupid fucking mouth.

Roy takes a breath. “I agree.”

 Somehow Ed feels more frustrated entering the room than he did exiting it.

-=-=-=-=-

Ed’s mental prediction proves to be true: he and Roy barely get to interact for the rest of the day. Oh, they _pass_ each other, and _catch glimpses_ and such, but Ed cannot help but feel a little left out. He knows that what’s going on right now are the last technicalities; making sure the wardrobe, which Roy has never seen before, fit, and fixing up the runway lights, and so on and so on. If he were writing a story about it, Ed would skip the entire six hours between 1 and 6 PM. Even the crew are busy, working with fellow camera men, and light technicians, and media administrators.

The only part he’d leave in is just after dinner, when his phone buzzes from a text. It’s from Riza, and as always, is straight to the point.

_Good luck, Edward._

He doesn’t reply, and he knows she wouldn’t want him to at this time. He’s got enough personal shit whirring through his head without all the busyness of the day. Every time he so much as sees Roy for a moment, he’s reminded of the fact that he didn’t say anything this morning, and he didn’t say anything when they saw each other briefly at lunch, and he hasn’t said anything now. When the shoot ends, their jobs are done, and they will go home for another weekend doing whatever the hell it is they _do._ Ed’s been missing his chemicals, sure, but not _that_ badly.

The first really happy thing of the day occurs when they bump into each other, both having snuck to the one-way glass windows placed in the walls. In between them is the door leading towards the runway. People have begun to file in and take their seats, and a steady murmur fills the large room.

“How many people can fit in here again?” Ed wonders in a whisper.

“500, I believe,” Roy whispers back.

“Some of ‘em look really happy,” Ed notes, slightly puzzled. “Funny what things can cheer people up; like watching a bunch of half-starved models walk with new and prettier clothes on.”

“I’d hardly consider myself ‘half-starved’,” Roy notes drily. “But speaking of happy people,” he gestures with a hand out past Ed’s right.

Ed squints a little, turning until his eyes fixing on Al’s smiling face, and then Winry as they sit in the front row, and then the abrupt but unmistakable linking of their fingers. It’s a subtle gesture, and there’s no proclamation in it, but they might as well have hung up a huge cardboard sign declaring _GUESS WHAT, ED?_

“That little _shit,”_ Ed hisses. “He didn’t even _tell me._ ”

“What are you talking about?” Roy asks him, concerned.

Ed pulls him forward by the arm, and points to his seat brother. “ _That,_ ” he hisses in a whisper.

Roy looks out at them for a moment, and then smiles widely. “You told me before you thought this would happen,” he shrugs. “Aren’t you happy for them?”

“I’m happy as _fuck,_ ” Ed retorts in that neutral way of his. “Not happy they didn’t _tell_ me, is all.”

“I’m sure they were planning to,” Roy reassures him. “Maybe they came tonight for that very purpose. Maes must have gotten them seats; those front-row ones are always terribly expensive.”

Ed huffs. “That was nice of him,” and stands up straight, and the air between them is abruptly awkward once again. He _hates_ it, but isn’t he the one who produced it? His mindset flips back like the pages of a magazine to all the opportunities he had earlier in the day. Does God ever look down at a coast dotted with storms and think, _Shit, mood ruiner_?

It seems Edward Elric will do quite a lot to save face. “You nervous?”

Roy takes a moment to answer, but it’s not like Ed really needs him to answer. It was more a rhetorical question. “Terribly, but I confess to being even more excited.”

“Yeah?” Ed prompts. “How come?”

Roy looks back out the window, the movement of people reflecting in his eyes. “They’ve all come to see us,” he answers, still whispered. “I did the work and now I am able to see what came of it.”

“Guess who _isn’t_ here tonight?”

Roy pauses for a moment. “Russel?”

Ed lightly punches him on the arm, perhaps a trifle too gleefully. “Just try not to fuck anything up. I’ll come out onto the runway and kill you.”

“Would you?” Roy laughs softly.

Before Ed can reply, Lan Fan comes around the corner. She looks unsurprised to see them, but waves her arm impatiently. “Would you two mind moving to the back of the hallway? Things are about to start and God knows what will happen if Ling gets distracted.”

“I sense an ‘again’ in that,” Roy says.

She rolls her eyes. “You have no idea. Now, if you please?”

Ed and Roy do as they were asked (ordered), but there aren’t any windows here and the light is dimmer. Still, they can talk in normal voices again, and it’s less startling when Ling hurries into the hallway, a blur of lemony-yellow colour. “See you on the other side! Literally!” He calls as he goes past, and Ed pokes his head out a little to see better.

“What the fuck is he wearing?”

He is so in love with Ed that it actually hurts a little bit. “I really don’t know.”

Roy’s face has taken on a quality that Ed cannot really describe, in these past few minutes. It’s gone from nervous to tense to relaxed and all over again, but the worst thing about it is that Ed realises he feels the same way. Not because of the shoot, though, and that’s what makes him guilty. Edward Elric is wasting time angsting over his fucking pathetic attempts at informing the man who’s about to complete one of the great shoots of his career that Ed _likes him back._

What a time to be alive, really.

Despite appearances, it’s not actually because Ed is an idiot. It’s because the air for all of today has been thrumming with _now or never_ for a reason, and if it rips him from the inside out, he’s going to trust his gut once again.

Roy adjusts the tiniest detail on his jacket for the hundredth time. There is a live-video feed playing from the television on the wall about ten feet away, and Ed guesses they installed it there so that models would get a better idea of when to move. A few feet away and mounted to the corner, about the size of an exit sign is a device showing in red letters how many minutes remain. Ling is almost to the end of the runway and Ed can practically _see_ his un-modelsome smirk even from here.

“I think Ling missed out on the modelling expression classes,” he notes.

Roy breathes a huff of laughter. “Some models don’t like to appear emotionless; it’s not unheard of.”

“But all the really _famous_ ones do,” Ed argues.

“I don’t do that.”

Ed grins a little, and that seems to relax Roy just a little. “Ow. I’m wounded.”

“That’s the goal of this arrangement,” Ed informs him. Everything feels like a long exposure photo, stretching out unnaturally. Except there aren’t pretty lights or eye-catching colours this time.

Ling disappears behind the cream coloured exit wall with a wink and a wave, and Roy breathes out again, then checks his watch. “Three minutes until Archer speaks, and then it’s me.”

“I need to tell you something before you go on,” Ed blurts out, and feels like a shitty person, because he _is_ a shitty person.

Roy blinks at him.

Ed feels like his skin, trapped in his waistcoat, is crawling. All the oxygen in the world wouldn’t be able to save him right now. “You’re right,” he says, and it feels strained, and like a _relief,_ and like something that’s finally honest. “Were right the whole time.”

Roy is still looking at him oddly, but there’s a dawning realisation in his eyes that has Ed rambling on before he can get in an answer. “When. When you said you thought I returned your feelings. Y’were totally right. But I’m an asshole and kind of a coward, in case you hadn’t realised, and I’m sorry I didn’t tell you the truth, ‘cause we both know you knew it anyway. I don’t have excuses for it, except that Al’s told me I show sign of ‘pathological abandonment issues’, whatever the fuck that means, and I thought that all you wanted was a fuck and a goodbye.” He dares to glance back up from his clenched hands to Roy’s face. “An’ that _isn’t_ all I want, and if you do, then that’s fine, but I don’t think I could live like that. That’s why I said no the first time. And all the other times. I can’t be your _one time thing,_ Roy.”

The man’s face has shifted; like a glacier in which every shard of ice has shifted infinitesimally. But there’s no coldness in his face right now. Just a sort of understanding which feels, to be honest, really fucking _relieving,_ and a little sad, and a little incredulous.

“The fact that you could regard yourself as any person’s ‘one time thing’ astonishes me, quite frankly,” is what he says, quiet voice soothing against the shake in Ed’s own. “Ed, I don’t mean to spring this on you two minutes before I have to leave, but I frankly adore you. And while it’s a bit early to start looking at long-term commitments, suffice it to say that I want you as my PA, and much more, for as long as you’ll possibly have me.”

Ed’s about to start talking again, but Roy takes both his hands in a sudden motion and looks down at him. There’s an intensity there that Ed doesn’t think comes from the shoot happening in a minute or so.

“I was yours whether you returned anything I said or not.” Roy’s thumb brushes over the top of Ed’s hand, and he can feel his own pulse beating underneath the gesture.

Ed’s eyes flick to the ground, mouth opening, and then the light above them flashes twice, indicating _30 seconds remaining_ in its red emergency text. Thirty seconds isn’t enough time to take in all the things he’s just said, but Ed’s set his damn _brilliant_ brain on trying.

Roy holds his hands a little tighter, an edge of desperation to them now. “Ed, look at me. Please.”

Ed does as he’s told, albeit slowly.

“Come see me when this is over,” Roy requests, begs, _hopes._ “This is your moment as much as it is mine. And what you’ve said just now has given me the courage to do anything for some length of time.”

“Fucking sap,” Ed mutters, because he’s afraid that the tears suddenly appearing in his eyes will spill over if he doesn’t dam them up with something callous.

There’s the sound of Roy’s soft laugh, and then a kiss pressed suddenly to his temple, and his hands are empty once again. Roy pushes past the entrance to where he will make his way down the short hall, out the open door, and onto the runway.

Ed could probably stand there and cry like a girl for an hour or so.

Instead, he grips his tablet a little closer and runs like hell out of the hallway, out to the staircase leading to the audience seats and to his seat at the end. Archer’s crisp voice fills the entire room, and Ed knows that Roy is listening, and waiting.

As he finds his seat at the very front, just a few away from Al’s shining golden head, he can almost catch a glimpse of blue coattails and the flash of a charming smile.

-=-=-=-=-

Frank Archer finally finishes his sentence, letting his words hang in the open air, and then makes his way down the steps to his own seat. Roy heaves in one last breath, thinks of Ed, makes his legs move. He’s riding off the absolute high of Edward Elric’s validation, and he will never fear anything ever again.

The nervousness fades in seconds.

There’s really no describing, he considers as the flash of a camera close by makes him blink, the way that this feels. When you’re walking down a runway and there’s a few hundred people watching you, there’s a certain power that comes from nothing else. When every single camera at the event is currently focussed on you and the man you love is watching you with eyes intense as the sun, you feel like nothing could go wrong again. You are the sun, and everyone watching you is just one of Jupiter’s moons; reoccurring and almost commonplace.

When he reaches the end of the runway, he stops just a few feet in front of where Ed is sitting. There are, as previously mentioned, at least a dozen cameras very close to him, currently flashing. But for the single moment where it matters, despite every noise pouring into his ears and bubbling like champagne in his chest, the world is completely silent. Their eyes meet, so that when Roy smiles, Ed knows it’s a gift delivered specifically to him. There are a hundred others more manufactured, more practiced, more suave, but this one is Ed’s, and there is nothing short of honesty in it.

The most amazing thing is that although Roy knows Ed is stressed, is probably tired, is riding on the wave that they’ve built up together, well. He uses that split second to smile back.

Every camera flash in the entire world doesn’t even begin to compare.

The moment ends, Roy’s eyes slip back up towards the rest of the world, and turns around. His pace as he goes back is possibly a little slower, a little more leisurely, but not a single person would blame him. Ling had opened, and now Roy will close, and he will bring this orchestra to a conclusion no less dazzling for its diminishing.

No, not _diminishing._ A decrescendo. A gentle ease of pace.

There is no diminishment here tonight.

As he leaves the runway, steps off the smooth surface onto the ground of normal reality, the lights over the runway flicker and fade, leaving a few moments of breathless silence before Archer can get up there. Taking his rightful place once again, he smiles out at the crowd and waves a hand. “Thank you all, once again, for coming tonight.” His voice is strong, and fills the room with the aid of his microphone. The audience seems captivated, as if still waiting on something.

“Please enjoy your night, and enjoy your weekend!” Archer dips in a slight bow. “ _Bonsoir!”_

As he leaves the runway, the lights come back on in their normal brightness. Blinking, the audience members begin to collect their things and disperse. Some hang around a little, perhaps to catch another glimpse of Roy, or maybe to speak to Archer. However, they too eventually trickle out, with the exception of Al and Winry. Ed pushes his way through the remaining people to hug his brother for what must be a solid five minutes, heart pounding against his chest with something like pride.

“Tonight was amazing, brother,” Al tells him softly. “Mr. Roy looked wonderful.”

Ed finally releases him, hands still gripping Al’s strong shoulders. He can’t seem to stop smiling, and it’s as foreign a feeling as it is…nice. “Thanks, Al. You know, he probably thought the same thing.”

Turning from his grinning brother, he accepts a hug from Winry. “How’s that arm comin’ along?”

“Not as well as your fashion expertise, apparently,” she smiles at him. Her long blonde hair is wavy; like she’s had it in braids for several days. Al loves braids.

Speaking of…

He narrows a glance at the two of them, unrelenting on Al’s guilty blush. “So. When did this happen?”

“Aha.” Al runs a hand over the back of his neck. “About a week ago? We were going to tell you when we came here tonight, but it seems you figured it out all on your own.”

“’Course I did!” Ed punches his shoulder halfheartedly. “You were all _holdin’ hands_ and shit. It was impossible not to see.”

“That…may have been a factor,” Al admits, but he doesn’t look apologetic as he smiles at Winry.

“So this means you guys beat me,” Ed announces. “Damn.”

Al’s eyebrows go up, and then he smiles even wider. “So you actually did it?”

“Oh, well, we haven’t _done it_ yet,” Edward says. He grins at Al’s discomfited look. “But he was getting ready to walk out and he was super nervous, _for him,_ y’know, and I just grew a pair and told him.”

“Was he alright?” Winry asks, looking towards the entrance of the runway as if looking for Roy.

“Oh, yeah, he was fine.” Ed stuffs his hands in his pockets. “I actually need to go see him, you guys…” he trails off, suddenly feeling guilty. He’d completely forgotten about his remaining responsibilities in all this.

Al hugs him once again, shaking his head. “No, brother, please go. It was so nice to see you. Please give Mr. Roy my best.” He draws back, beaming, and Ed nods.

Winry gives him another hug as well. “Go get him, tiger,” she whispers in his ear, and Ed feels his face redden. She pulls away with a wicked grin, and waves as Ed hurries on to the runway and then practically runs to the door.

-=-=-=-=-

Ed finds one of the cameramen in the hall, examining the lens critically. Out of breath, Ed comes up to him and asks, “Have you seen Roy Mustang?”

The guy looks up at him, nodding. “Yeah, in his room. Just went there a couple minutes ago.”

“Awesome, thanks.” Ed takes off at _almost_ a run until he gets to the row of dressing rooms. One reads **Roy Mustang** in clean, strong print, the other across the hall reads **Ling Yao.** There are no other taken rooms, it seems.

Ed brushes his hands down his waistcoat, suddenly nervous. Heart pounding in his ears so loudly he’s suddenly afraid he might faint, he hastily knocks on the door and leans against the door frame with one hand to catch his breath.

It’s opened a moment later, and Roy looks down at him with surprise, and then concern. “Ed. Are you alright?”

“Yeah, uh, is there anybody helpin’ you in there?” Ed inquires, pointing to the room Roy has just revealed.

Still looking confused, Roy shakes his head. “No. Should there be?”

“Now there should,” Ed tells him, and drags him down for a kiss.

It’s utterly surprising to both of them, warm and a tad frantic and _perfect._ A second is all it takes for Roy to respond, pulling Ed closer in his arms until they’re both inside the room and he can kick the door closed. He kisses Ed like there’s absolutely nothing better, no offer that could possibly distract him, and Ed thinks his chest might burst open with the _finally, finally, finally_ of it.

Curling his fingers in the soft, dark hair at the base of Roy’s neck, Ed opens his mouth to explore, and meets Roy’s tongue halfway. It tastes warm and slick and _victorious,_ and the sheer closeness of the two of them lets Ed know that Roy’s heart is beating just as fast as his own. There’s something irresistibly pleasing about that fact, and Ed finds his smile returning, kissing Roy with it until there isn’t a breath of oxygen in his lungs.

When Roy pulls back for them both to breathe, (seeing as Ed would have happily just suffocated), it’s only a few inches. Dark eyes fixed on Ed’s own golden ones, Ed resists a shiver when he notices how black they’ve gone.

“I wanted to do that for such a long time,” he says, voice calm with its honesty. His lips are red and a little wet, and Ed is having trouble concentrating on anything else.

“Yeah, same,” he replies, eloquently. His other hand curls in Roy’s jacket collar, as if to reassure himself that this is _real_ and actually _happening_.

Roy reaches down and bumps their noses together, because he is a fucking sap, and because Ed cannot muster a single complaint. “Tonight was wonderful,” he tells him, softly. A finger reaches up and tucks Ed’s wayward hair behind one ear. “ _You_ were wonderful.”

Ed swallows back a hitching breath, looking at Roy’s eyes meaningfully. “Yeah, well, the night ain’t over yet, and neither is this.” Without further ado, he pulls Roy’s mouth back to his and answers Roy’s grin with an excited one of his own.

They kiss until Ed feels explored, plundered, revived. Roy’s mouth is a fucking benediction in its softness; the heat of it is absolution. Roy keeps making these little breathy _noises_ every time they part for a second’s worth of air, and it’s driving Ed positively insane. Roy’s fingers at the back of his head, fingers sifting through his hair, has Ed moaning into his mouth and aching for _closer,_ for _privacy,_ for anything Roy is willing to give him, really.

Roy responds greedily, accepting whatever Ed offers and taking his own and then some. His hands gravitate lower, caging Ed by his hips and holding their bodies as absolutely close as possible.

“You are _divine,_ ” Roy rumbles against his lips, and Ed licks the words from roof of his mouth with the intent of answering back-

When someone knocks on the door.

They break apart like waves bereft of the shore, and their eyes meet in the split second conversation of _oh shit what do we do?_

Roy’s eyes suddenly brighten with an idea. “One moment,” he calls, and it sounds _absolutely_ almost entirely normal. Ed is frankly impressed. His golden eyes go a little wider when Roy begins unbuttoning his shirt, pulling it in a haphazard fashion out of his pants. Ed catches on a moment later, and darts behind the safety of the closet door as Roy goes to open the door.

“My apologies,” Ed hears his smooth voice. “Getting out of these clothes is always a fight.”

“It’s no trouble at all.” Stiffening, Ed recognises the voice as Archer’s. The oily quality of it isn’t lost on him even from this distance. “I was wondering if you’d seen Edward around anywhere?”

Ed breathes out an entirely silent breath, turning his faith over to Roy.

“Not since the end of the shoot, actually,” Roy answers apologetically. Ed is increasingly in awe of the smooth calmness of his voice. He didn’t even skip a beat. “After I change, I would be happy to help look for him. I know that his brother came tonight, and I’m sure they got into conversation.”

“You’re probably correct,” he can _hear_ the manufactured shrug in Archer’s voice. Ed silently prays that they _never_ have to work with Fusion again while Frank Archer is in power. “Thank you for your helpfulness.”

“My pleasure,” Ed can definitely hear the manufactured smile in that. “I’m afraid that Edward is rather distractible sometimes.”

“I’m sure you would know,” Archer murmurs, and the scowl on Ed’s face melts into an icy chill beneath his skin.

The door closes, and the room is quiet again. Ed pokes his head out to see Roy still looking at the door, frowning.

“Offense, but I’m at least fairly certain that man is related to a snake,” he announces, although whether he’s speaking to Ed or no one at all remains a mystery. His dark eyes flick back over to Ed’s mouth set in a firm line before he seems to shake out his tension and smiles. “Thank you for cooperating.”

Ed scoffs, coming forward again. Roy’s unbuttoned shirt reveals the entirety of his toned chest, and Ed is stubbornly avoiding that fact. “Thanks for calling me ‘distractible’. Speak for yourself, asshole.”

Roy’s smile doesn’t let up, and it seems Edward is its sole focuss for the moment. “I should probably change clothes,” he announces regretfully, looking down at himself. “If Archer is really looking for you, he’s going to get suspicious when you don’t turn up anywhere.”

“Yeah, I’ll get out of your hair.” Ed fidgets for a moment, and then lets it out. “I thought you were really great tonight,” he blurts. “I mean, you’re always good, but tonight you were sort of…I don’t know.” He roots around in his vocabulary for a suitable word. “Incandescent,” he finally nods, face probably _incandescent_ for how red he’s going.

Roy has been looking at his change of clothes, untangling them as Ed spoke, but now he looks up. His eyes are soft, face adjusting to match. “I was only as incandescent as you made me, my dear.”

Ed flushes again ( _cut it out, face)_ but he pokes his hands into his pockets once again. “Thanks.”

“I know this is sudden,” the cadence of Roy’s voice is almost shy. “But I was hoping…”

“You could suggest we both go have sex in the supply closet and I’d go with you,” Ed tells him, frankly. “So spit it out.”

Roy looks amused, regaining his nerve. “Will you come home with me? When all this is over? We don’t have to do anything,” he adds quickly, as if expecting Ed to refuse otherwise. “But it would be nice to just be able to kiss you. Hold you. Without any outside obligations or places to be.”

Ed is certain by now that his face is the colour of a fire engine that has caught fire, and he runs a distracted hand through his hair to hide it. “We can do. Stuff. If you want. But yeah, that sounds cool.”

Roy is letting out that goddamn _soft_ smile again; the one Ed _hates_ because Roy looks simply happy when he does it, and fuck, if that doesn’t make _Ed_ happy, too. “Cool,” he repeats, a trace of wonderment to his tone. Ed can sympathise; his lips are still tingling from kisses he never thought he’d get. Hoping that his face has cooled somewhat, he points a finger at Roy’s face. “But I expect text messages. And _plans.”_

“Tonight isn’t over,” Roy repeats back to him his line from earlier, and Ed nods. Roy lets out a little huffing breath that Ed doesn’t remember ever hearing before. “I will do that. Now, we don’t want to keep the illustrious Mr. Archer waiting.”

Ed rolls his eyes, but he checks the hallway right and left before slipping out. His footsteps are quiet, but his entire body is a symphony. And tonight Roy Mustang is conducting.

-=-=-=-=-

After performing the necessary pleasantries with Archer (turns out the man had just wanted to know the itinerary for the next day, like it mattered _at all_ to him), Ed slips away and bumps into Ling in search of the others. The taller man’s dark eyebrows lift as he recognises Ed, and he immediately smiles brightly. “Edward. I was so hoping I’d get the pleasure of your company once more before I left.”

Ed doesn’t bother to hide his eye-roll. “Well, now you’re seein’ me.”

“So I am,” Ling agrees, paradoxically cheerful. He grows serious a moment later, however, and clasps Ed’s hand in between his own. Despite feeling shocked and a little repulsed, Ed doesn’t pull away until Ling is finished speaking. “I’m sure you’ve heard this already, but I thought this evening went very, very well.” His voice is earnest in a way that makes Ed all the more uncomfortable for its sincerity. “And Roy deserved to win.”

Eyes widening slightly, Ed nods his head. “Thanks.”

“That doesn’t mean that in any future events I will _not_ give my all to beat him. But it was a pleasure working with _both_ of you,” Ling finishes. “And if you ever find yourself in need of a job, well.” He winks. “Call me up sometime.”

“Thanks, I guess,” Ed repeats, pulling his hand free. “I’m gonna get going now.”

“I’ll be seeing you,” Ling calls after him. “Quite soon.”

“Hopefully not very soon at all,” Ed mutters to himself, as he stalks down the hallway. Why does everyone have to come across as so passive-aggressive this evening?

He comes across Alphons, tapping away at his iPad, still dressed in his nice clothes. He glances up when Ed’s shadow falls across the floor in front of him, face breaking into a smile. “Ed!”

“Hey, man,” Ed tells him, because that’s apparently how to start a goodbye.

“You guys were cool,” Alphons tells him, and Ed has to smile at the reality of _two_ Al’s telling him that in the same night. “I saw you running around back there, and I had a seat up with the tech crew.”

“Yeah, no doubt while you were sittin’ on your ass and drinking a tequila,” Ed pretends to huff.

Alphons grins, reaching up to tuck a piece of blond hair behind his ear. “I hope I’ll see you sometime soon. Pretty hopeful of it, actually, after seeing how tonight went off.”

“Your boss is kind of a creep,” Ed says frankly.

Alphons sighs, shrugging his shoulders. “At least he’s a creep who pays well and doesn’t try to have sex with me. That’s all you can ask of your boss these days.”

“All that I know,” Ed responds, “Is that if my boss ever tried that, I’d kick him in the nuts.”

“I’ll keep that in mind if I’m ever looking for a change of pace,” Alphons promises reaching out his hand for Ed to shake. “I really enjoyed working with you two, and your crew. They were very polite.”

“Better’ve been.”

“I solemnly swear they were the picture of courtesy.” Alphons’ phone lets out that familiar chime, and he waves a hand. “We both know who that is. Keep in touch, Ed.”

“See ya,” Ed calls after his retreating figure, then finally continues his walk outside unimpeded by people hoping to see him again.

He finds the others clustered together; Jean is having a smoke and it seems the other two decided to come with him. Kain waves when he sees Ed, and then Jean is no longer the centre of interest.

“I’ve heard a lot of good shit about you guys tonight,” Ed tells them all. “Awesome work.”

“Worth nothing if you aren’t there, chief,” Jean tells him cheerfully. “Speakin’ of which, where’s Roy?”

“I imagine he’s coming along,” Ed responds, now wondering that himself.

“When are you two going home?” Breda inquires casually.

“Uhh, whenever he gets here, I guess. I don’t have the directions,” Ed says.

Kain nods as if this makes sense, but Havoc drops his cigarette and grinds it into the cement with his boot. “ _You_ owe me twenty bucks,” he declares to Breda, poking a finger at him.

“I don’t have it on me _right this second,_ ” Breda sighs. “Be patient.”

“Oh, I’ve been patient. I have been _very_ patient.”

“Excuse me,” Ed inquires, “but what the fuck is going on?”

Neither Breda nor Jean offers up any explanation, so it seems things are left to Kain. “Um, they had a bet.”

“On what?” Is the dark rejoinder.

“On, ah, you and Mr. Mustang?”

Ed turns a withering look on the unrepentant Jean and slightly ashamed Breda. “’S that so?”

It does not help that Roy chooses this opportunity to leave the building. Specifically to come towards the group of them. Specifically not knowing what is going on.

“You’re both fuckin’ losers,” Ed tells Havoc and Breda. To Kain: “You’re cool, I guess.”

“He called me cool,” Kain murmurs.

Ed turns and marches down the dark asphalt of the building leading down to the parking lot. He does not say a word to Roy.

Fortunately, this doesn’t seem to bother him. “Gentlemen, I wish you a good night,” he says, and then takes off after Ed at what could only be called a dignified trot.

Breda huffs a little through his nose, Kain appears dazed, and Jean throws another look at Breda. “You still owe me twenty bucks.”

-=-=-=-=-

Edward Elric has driven Roy Mustang places many times. Aside from their late-night store runs, they’ve been almost all business related. However, they have no cars this time, and the train ride home is significantly quieter than the initial train ride to Fusion. Not because anyone is feeling disgruntled, or unhappy, but because an understandable air of exhaustion permeates everything. Ed doesn’t even question it when he cranes his neck around and sees Kain passed out in his seat, a packed camera in the one next to him. He turns back around and glances at Roy, whose eyes are currently fixed on the dim outside of the wall flashing past. As if sensing Ed’s look, however, he turns his head and offers a tired smile. “Perhaps this sounds strange given the circumstances of our trip, but I _really_ miss my bed.”

_If I was your bed, I’d be missing you, too._

The thought slips out of his subconscious before Ed can stop it, and he hopes that the lighting is enough to conceal his flush. (It isn’t.) Roy’s eyes drop down to his cheeks, and his smile becomes more genuine. “But I confess to being very glad that you’re accompanying me to it.”

“Hope this doesn’t offer any shocks,” Ed says, “but I intend on a whole lot more than just _accompanying_ you.”

Roy’s smile tilts into a smirk, and he looks forward in his seat. “I suppose we’ll see,” is all he says.

But a few moments later his fingers find Ed’s, and between the two of them, it says a whole lot more than that.

-=-=-=-=-

“And are you _sure_ you don’t want to simply have a snack and go to sleep?” Roy inquires for what must be the dozenth time. Ed would be getting sick of it if it came from anyone else, honestly. “Because that’s quite alright.”

Ed turns around from where he’s pulled open the refrigerator door, and looks at him so that there is no mistaking things. “Roy, I appreciate you tryin’ to be nice, but I’m not such a sex addict that I would just fuck off ‘an not _tell_ you if I wasn’t feeling up to it.” He pulls open the door, bending to root around, and shies away from the gallon of milk he finds there. “You _drink_ this stuff?” He demands, pointing rather than just picking it up.

Roy comes over to where he is, to see what the offending object is. “I really don’t understand your abhorrence of milk, Edward.”

“’Cos it’s _gross._ Not to be trusted.” Ed shuts the door with an air of finality. “You got any crackers?”

“Possibly, in one of my upper cabinets. I think you’d be too-“ here Roy pauses, reconsidering. “I think I should just check to see. You could get us water glasses, if you don’t mind.”

Ed does as he’s asked (the drinking glasses were on the first shelf, fortunately), and Roy shortly discovers a stash of parmesan garlic crackers that don’t appear to be too old.

“I hate to just offer you _parmesan_ crackers and water like this is some sort of high-class dungeon,” he says regretfully, pouring them into a bowl. “Are you sure you don’t want something else?”

Ed shakes his head. “Nah; I’m not really all that hungry. Just wanted a snack.”

Roy joins him at the bar area, turning to Ed with his trademark smirk that Ed is _not_ accepting this late at night. “Not hungry at all?”

Well. It _is_ only 9:36.

“Nope,” Ed shrugs his shoulders, taking a handful of crackers and immediately shoving them into his mouth with a most satisfying _crunch!_ “Trafic’ly, no’ ad _aff._ ”

Roy takes a single cracker with an amused snort, and drinks his ice water.

They sit and eat crackers at Roy Mustang’s fancy granite bar, and Ed swings his legs in between the prongs of the stool like a kid before washing his food down with cold water. The thing not remotely _kid-like_ about this whole thing is that Roy will not stop fucking _looking_ at him like that, and it’s not that Ed is complaining, but it’s very hard to concentrate on some admittedly delicious snack food when you have something like _that_ waiting.

Ed has waited damn long for this evening, and he’s fucked if he’s going to go and rush it now.

Well, yes, but not in the right _way_.

“I’m just saying, Roy, I think a few celebratory crackers are a damn good way to gear things up.”

“I’m sure you aren’t wrong,” Roy agrees, but he’s got this weird little smile on his face that Ed somehow doesn’t believe is connected to cracker consumption. Which is a shame, really, because they really are awesome. “What’s so funny?”

Roy picks up another cracker. “You’ve just been calling me ‘Roy’ quite a lot this evening. I find that I like it.”

“Oh,” Ed says. Roy bites his cracker and the crunching fills the space.

Frankly, it hadn’t really occurred to him. He’s almost always called him ‘Roy’ in his head, but looking back on it, Ed guesses that ‘Mustang’ is the one that’s come out most times.

“I figured it better helped you grasp when we’re at work and when we’re not.”

“How kind of you,” his companion says, eyes twinkling.

“Okay,” Ed says, pushing his empty plate away. “Crackers were good. Can we clean up and go have sex now?”

“You’re very delicate when it comes to asking for things,” Roy observes, sealing the box of crackers once again while Ed takes their plates.

“My body is ready,” Ed tells him. “It had food and now it’s cool.”

“Well, at least you’re in tune with yourself, I suppose,” Roy answers, reaching up to the cabinet shelf.

Ed shuts the dishwasher’s door and grins. “As your fashion adviser, have you ever considered crop tops?”

Roy raises an eyebrow. “I don’t think being my PA qualifies as being my fashion consultant.”

“I don’t think you’re paid enough to tell me that. And you didn’t answer the question.”

“No, I haven’t, and if you’re asking because I was just reaching upwards, you can always just look away.”

“I would be missing out,” Ed says, still grinning. “Fuckin’ _bereft._ ”

Roy rolls his eyes, and then holds out his hands. “Shall we take this upstairs?”

Ed allows him to have _one_ hand. “What, are the crop tops up there?” He wonders, following Roy.

Roy huffs, although that may be due to climbing the stairs. “I certainly hope not. It would mean someone has been using my home without my permission. Unless it’s Elysia, who is always welcome, but I don’t think she wears them.”

“They’d be a bit on the small side, too,” Ed adds.

“I oftentimes like things to be on the small side,” Roy tells him, opening the door.

Despite being distracted by the upstairs, Ed still has the presence of mind for a retort. “I oftentimes like keeping my genitals.”

Roy snaps on the bedroom light. “Mm, and they’ll prove so very useful.”

Choosing to be the bigger person (ha) and move on, Ed notes that Roy’s bed turns out to be much like Roy himself. That is to say, it looks extremely attractive and proves surprisingly soft. Ed has to take a moment to run his hand over the coverlet; it’s in a crisp shade of navy blue and, he discovers upon pulling it down a little, hides white sheets underneath. It’s such a _Roy_ bed that he laughs a little bit.

“What’s so amusing?” Roy inquires, somehow also amused.

“I don’t know,” Ed turns to face him, sitting on his legs. The bed is springy, too. “Just seems exactly like the kind of bed you’d own.”

Roy’s mouth quirks. “Should it not be that way?”

Ed reaches forward, teetering dangerously on the edge until he can pull Roy in by the hand. “Would probably be a lot better with you in it.”

“Hmm,” Roy leans forward obligingly and seals their mouths together, and Ed guesses that he agrees with him.

Just when Ed thinks it’s getting to the good part, (not that any of this doesn’t classify as a good part), Roy leans back a little so that they’re just sitting, facing one another.

“We don’t have to do anything you’re not comfortable with,” Roy says, because he is an asshole and fucking _nice._ Ed’s tempted to make a joke, but Roy’s eyes are frankly so _earnest_ at the moment that it feels like it would be out of place.

“’S been awhile,” Ed confesses, “since, like, much of anything.”

“We don’t even have to-“

“No, nonono,” Ed puts a finger on his mouth, effectively silencing Roy for what is likely to be the next thirty seconds. “I _do_ and we should definitely do that. I’m just warning you.”

Roy’s eyebrows rise, and Ed drops his finger. Eleven seconds. “Are you trying to tell me you think you’ll be disappointing?”

“Well, I figure that if I tell you ‘m a bad lay, you won’t feel the need to later,” Ed says cheerfully.

Roy gives him a look. “I highly doubt that will be the case.”

“Well, y’know, ‘s what we came here to find out ‘n all.”

Roy reaches out with a hand, then pauses with an eyebrow raised. “May I?”

Ed rolls his eyes. “You don’t need a legal contract stipulatin’ what you can do in here.”

Roy shrugs lightly as he begins to work at the buttons on Ed’s shirt with careful fingers. “I like to check.”

“I like you,” Ed says, then immediately goes red. Endorphins make the stupidest shit come out of his mouth.

Roy smiles, however, as if that wasn’t stupid at all, and gently pulls Ed’s shirt from his shoulders before running a hand lightly down Ed’s chest. “I quite like you, too.” The gesture makes Ed shiver, but in the best kind of way, and he feels his cock stir a little at how Roy’s eyes have suddenly gone from dark blue to pools of black. Black holes, but softer. Swimming pools, but warmer. There are a dozen metaphors on hand for how Roy looks right now, and he hasn’t even taken off his clothes.

Speaking of which. “Can I do you, too?”

Roy pauses from where his fingers are deftly unclasping Ed’s belt and pants’ buttons. “I assume you mean take off my clothes, but in either context, certainly.”

Ed rolls his eyes, but the sarcastic remark dies on his tongue and goes to rest with most of his other thoughts, which at the moment are looping around things like _holy shit_ and _his chest is as nice as his face._ It isn’t long before his pants follow, and _his dick is even nice, too._ Ed considers that his subconscious shouldn’t seem so surprised by this fact.

Roy is a smooth plane of pale skin everywhere; Ed had been expecting that maybe below the collar line was somehow more white due to a lack of sunlight, but this doesn’t seem to be the case. As if sensing this thought, Roy smirks a little. “I like to swim on the weekends.”

“Lucky fucking swimmers, then,” Ed mutters enviously.

“Not swimmers,” Roy corrects, suddenly pushing Ed onto his back and nuzzling into his neck. “Just one extremely beautiful P.A.”

Ed rolls his eyes, but once again the powers that be (Roy) have decided to render him mostly speechless. Roy leaves these fucking _soft_ little kisses all up the line of his neck and down his shoulder, and then uses his right hand to slide under Ed’s back and move him further up the bed.

Specifically, far enough upwards that Ed can lie in the pillows and Roy can reach for his bedside drawer. He pulls out a bottle of lube and a few condoms, one of which he takes and pulls open with his teeth.

“I don’t think that’s sanitary,” Ed remarks. Not that he’s had enough experience with _condom ripping_ in recent days to be perceived as a good judge on the matter.

“I don’t think anyone of note other than ourselves is going to know,” Roy responds innocently, placing the wrapper back on the bedside table and then rolling on the condom. Ed watches him and congratulates himself on no blushing so far, although that’s probably more owing to the fact that all his blood has rushed northwards to a significant location.

Roy reaches up again and presses their lips together one more time, and Ed’s struck by how nice it is, to sleep with someone who’s interested in more than just the way his ass feels.

“You’re really nice,” he says, suddenly, repeating that trend of _blurting out the shit he was thinking._ “Sorry if that sounds dumb or corny or somethin’.”

It really isn’t anything that should make Ed feel weird for saying. It isn’t like the last guy he said that to up and left in the wee hours of the next morning and didn’t even bother to leave him a note afterwards should still _bother_ him. Al’s told him that he has abandonment issues, and fuck it, maybe he’s just been looking too closely, but Al has rarely been wrong before.

But, this is different, he reminds himself. This is someone he’s known longer than a few hours at a grubby bar, and this is why Roy is the one who tells him, “I think you’re very nice, too.”

This time it’s Ed who reaches up to kiss him, a little rougher, a little dirtier, and when he pulls Roy down by his legs around Roy’s waist, the resulting groan rumbles through both of them.

Things finally seem to be gearing up a little when Roy shifts to pour a little lube into his palm, pressing a kiss to Ed’s hipbone on the way. When a single slicked finger presses into him Ed’s breath stutters for a moment, but he reminds himself to relax and then things are alright again. Especially when Roy adds a second finger to the first, Ed finds that it’s one of the nicer sensations of the whole week. Probably third on the list, after that delicious Italian food and the sensation of kissing Roy.

Perhaps it's this; this newfound love of closeness to him. This strange sort of kinship where they understand each other, and Ed suddenly understands that it's _okay to want-_

Anything to bring them closer together; any sort of closeness, he will take. Does that make him desperate, or just in love? His thoughts shift to liquid when Roy’s focuss shifts just to _this._

He's not too proud to admit that he loves it, but he loves Roy-

Perhaps he loves Roy even more.

There is something so in-the-moment about being with Roy, and yet it somehow has a feeling to it that makes the act stretch out forever. He shifts his legs around Roy's hips and burrows a little deeper into that annoyingly decadent bed, sighing a breath through his nose. Time to let those thoughts go for a little while. Maybe longer than a little while.

Roy lets his fingers still and pauses, lube bottle in his hand, to look up at him. "Something not to your liking?"

Ed scowls at him, but there's no heat in it and the hands carding through Roy's hair are gentle. "Not sure I like the part where we're old men by the time you get _on_ with it."

Roy snorts, and it takes Ed a moment to register because he has never heard that noise before in the two years they've worked together. And he is suddenly realising that that is a very tragic fact. "I promise it'll be a little shorter than that," he says, so fucking earnestly Ed seriously considers if Roy took that statement, well, seriously. "But we've been dancing around this for, what? At least a year now?"

Ed grits his teeth a little; nods.

Roy reaches up and nuzzles his shoulder, moving up until he can kiss the inside of his neck. It shouldn't make Ed feel so stupid and glowy inside, but it _does._ "Then I think we can afford to stretch it out a _little,_ hm?"

Ed flushes and squirms against him; he can feel lube running down his right thigh and can only imagine how much has gotten on the prosthetic one. Roy's fingers haven't left their task, but they've paused to rest on his hip while he pays attention to Ed's neck, and he's finding it difficult to complain.

Difficult, but not impossible. "Stretchin' it out is one thing. Stretchin' _me_ out is another, much more satisfying, thing."

Roy glances up at him; their faces are so close together and he swears his eyes have gone to total pools of darkness. Their lips are an inch or two apart, and that's being generous, and Ed briefly wonders if the man is _intent_ on making him beg.

"We could do both," Roy all but purrs, and _there_ are his fingers again; clever as sin and sneaky as the devil as they drift in between his thighs.

Ed hisses out a breath and clenches his teeth, holding back the urge to start swearing. "Just _do_ it, Mustang."

"I'm not Nike," the man notes, vastly amused, and waits until he's got a finger sunk all the way in before finishing his sentence. "And I'm not Mustang inside this bedroom, either."

Ed cranes his neck back, unintentionally offering it again, and it's an oblation that Roy is more than willing to accept. The retort on his lips has somehow vanished, and is replaced by a low whine somewhere in the back of his throat. He isn't really even aware that he's making it until Roy moves from his throat to his lips, kissing him with powdered sugar-soft lips while his fingers continue to stretch Ed out like dough. Ed twists against them, half on purpose and half because he can barely help it anymore, and Roy breaks their kiss to laugh softly into his hair.

"What's so funny?" Ed demands, trying to muster a glare but probably only ending up with a mild scowl.

"You are," Roy answers, and draws his fingers out with an audible noise that has Ed biting back a moan.

He moves to slide Ed's legs over his shoulders, moving with a slowness that somehow isn't nearly as agonising as the way he leaves kisses down Ed's thigh. It's his _left_ one, too, the un-sexy piece of him that Ed sometimes (most times) wishes bitterly that he could get rid of. Or swap out. Or _something._

But Roy seems to read his thoughts, or maybe he's just very intuitive, because his free hand is caressing it now, too. His eyes are closed and it makes his face look soft, soft enough that Ed swallows hard and for the barest shred of a moment, kind of wants to cry.

"So you're goin' for middle age, then," he tries to grin, but it comes out as more of a croak. Roy's eyes blink open again and he looks at Ed, looks right in his eyes where he always seems to find himself, and smiles like Edward is a sunny day after a week of rainy ones.

"Hmm..." he hums, dripping some more lube on his palm and then spreading it over his cock, hair falling in his eyes as he does so. "While I should very much like to still be having sex with you when we're that age, I highly doubt it will be the same session."

Ed has a witty reply on his lips, he really does, but it gets lost somewhere in the spaces between _Roy Mustang is touching me_ and _Roy Mustang is inside me._

Roy doesn't stop touching him one he's inside, if anything, he somehow seems to move all in the same rhythm. Slow but somehow not _too_ slow, one hand holding Ed's hip while the other practically worships his thigh.

Fuck. Ed is _not going_ to cry right now. Or any time. Crying is absolutely off the table.

Roy looks up at him again, and he reaches up to press a kiss to Ed's forehead this time. He makes his way down, and maybe Ed helps a little with that because his arms wrap themselves around the other man's neck. And all the while Roy is moving his hips so slowly, his body warm and firm against Ed's, his voice low in Ed's ear.

"You're so beautiful," he murmurs, almost mumbles, and Ed would deny the sheer idiocy of that statement if he weren't holding back another moan because _Roy feels so fucking good._

Or maybe Roy feels so good fucking? Either way.

He pulls Ed's legs tighter over his shoulders and grinds a little deeper, breaths growing more erratic.

"I mean it," he still manages to say, although it's more of a huff than anything else. "Edward, _Ed,_ " he murmurs, and no one's ever said his name quite like that before; a prayer, maybe, or more specifically, one of _thanks_.

"You sure talk a lot for someone who likes sex so much," Ed mutters, breath hitching, but his ability to make sarcastic rejoinders is quickly dwindling, replaced by the urge to bring Roy a little closer instead.

"Are you saying I'm prettier when I'm quiet?" Roy inquires archly, not deterred in the least.

“I’m _sayin’_ that you should shut up and fuck me.”

“So demanding,” Roy sighs out, but he makes up with it for a kiss, and then _does._

Ed’s never been surfing before; as a kid he just wasn’t near water enough and as a student he never learned to manage it with his leg. But that doesn’t mean he isn’t familiar with the warm sensation of water when you body-surf; of the tumbling, _riotous_ joy it stirs up in your stomach as seems to laugh its way to the surface. Sex with Roy reminds him of that; all the excitement, all the smoothness, all the _ease_ of it all that he never expected to find. Roy’s body is the ocean and Ed continually finds himself being swept under, but drowning is suddenly the best feeling in the world.

He’s always been firmly appreciative of sex; it relaxes you, it feels good, it’s a bonding experience in its own way where words somehow become unneeded. But sex with _Roy_ is all those things compounded, and he’s never smiled so much as he’s dragged under, and never laughed so much as he rises back to the surface.

They come almost together, Ed just a little eager, a little quick. His lithe body moves around Roy’s like a snake; legs clenching, body pulsing, fingers tingling. Roy just buries a moan in his shoulder and grinds a little deeper, thrusts gone erratic as the tide until he loses control with his climax. They lie together in a tangle of sheets and hot breath, and it’s a moment later that Roy realises Ed is _smiling._ He’s always beautiful when he smiles; a blind man couldn’t deny it. But like _this,_ sex-flushed and still curled around Roy and set against the backdrop of white sheets, he is nothing less than glorious. He breathes heavily, open-mouthed as he catches his air, lips spread in a grin.

“That wasn’t too bad,” he announces, seemingly content to let Roy stare.

Roy finds himself grinning back, and then kissing Ed for no reason at all, and then a bit more after that. At some point Ed’s arms wind around his neck, pulling him a little closer, but Roy tries to stay aware enough of things to clean up. Pulling out as gently as he can, he pushes the sheets a bit to the side and sits up with a yawn. “I’m going to get us a towel.”

Ed pulls himself up to his elbows, golden eyes suddenly shadowed. “Or we could shower,” he suggests lightly.

A fool would hear the certain tone in which the words are said, and Roy is no fool. Even so, just minutes after concluding their previous act, his cock finds the motivation to stir just a little, back to the land of the living.

“We could certainly do that,” he agrees.

Ed grins and climbs out of bed to follow him.

-=-=-=-=-

The shower is hot and quite cleansing, or would be if they would pause long enough to get to the shampoo. Roy insists on washing Ed’s hair; an action which seems to relax himself just as much as it does Ed. Even in the shower and away from sunlight, Ed’s hair is nothing short of spun gold moving through his careful fingers. Roy reaches his arms around Ed’s waist and jerks him off, slow and rough, and Ed’s moans echo over the shower walls when they’re not being smothered into silence with kisses. Maybe it’s his youth, or maybe it’s Roy, but whatever the reason Ed comes fast, and as soon as the earth realigns itself a little he’s dropping to his knees even faster. It’s been a while since he’s given a guy a blowjob, but he thinks he can remember pretty well. If Roy’s appreciative noises are anything to go by, his memory serves him well. The man above him certainly seems to have a thing for his hair, but Ed finds that he likes the sensation of fingers sliding through the wet strands much more than he anticipated.

At some point, when Roy’s hot water is no doubt about to expire and his bill will skyrocket, they both tumble out in a mess of towels and water-spiky hair. Ed reaches on his tiptoes to ruffle the bird’s nest that Roy’s dark locks have become, because he can, and because, “Y’look like a fuckin’ _bird._ ”

“Caw-caw,” Roy says.

Ed clutches the towel around his waist, changing his voice to imitate that of a nature documentary’s narrator. “And here we see the native Mustang, after preening his feathers in his favourite habitat, a runway, crowing out his satisfaction.”

“I hardly think that counts as crowing,” the native Mustang argues.

Ed steals the towel from Roy’s shoulders and dries off his own hair, peering up at him through the resulting space. “I hardly think you should be commenting.”

Roy rolls his eyes, and glances around the bathroom. “I hope you brought your toothbrush. I never seem to have an extra one on hand.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Ed shrugs, opening the bathroom door and letting the steam escape. “I brought all my shit in my suitcase. And what kind of animal doesn’t brush their teeth for _two_ days?”

Roy pauses for a moment. “Crows?”

Ed tosses the towel at him. “Now _that,_ you probably have a right to comment on.”

He gets dressed in the lamplight of Roy’s room; he hears the water running in the bathroom and guesses that Roy is brushing his teeth. Once in his pyjamas he kneels down and rifles through his suitcase’s contents until he finds his toothbrush. There’s even accompanying paste with it, but he’ll just steal Roy’s.

When he heads back into the bathroom Roy seems just ready to go out, but he pauses long enough in the doorway to press a kiss to Ed’s temple. The gesture still makes Ed feel all funny and _warm_ and shit somewhere in his guts, and while he’s still not sure if he trusts the sensation, he’s made the decision to trust _Roy._

When all the teeth-brushing, pee-taking and water-drinking has finished, and Ed crawls once again into Roy’s ridiculously comfortable bed, he lets a sigh out through his nose and glances out the window.

“Something the matter?” Roy inquires, joining him.

Ed doesn’t turn his head, but he shrugs his shoulders. “Not _wrong,_ really. Jus’ tired. But a good kind of tired,” he adds quickly, now looking at Roy.

The man at his side seems to relax a little at the reassurance, and lets out a yawn that Ed probably shouldn’t find so heartbreakingly adorable. He should do a whole shoot on the different phases of his yawns: the threat of a beginning, the mouth forced open, the hand reaching up quickly, and the head-tilt to let it all out. Ed watches in peculiar fascination until Roy looks back at him, and mouth quirked. “It’s getting pretty late, my dear. I think we should sleep.”

“I think that we agree,” Ed says, settling under the covers.

Roy snaps off the lamp and curls around him in a warm bundle of skin and clothes, and in the darkness Ed can finally let his face relax and the smile that’s been threatening for the last hour spread over it. Roy sighs softly in the darkness, and Ed can’t ever remember hearing a simple noise that’s so utterly _contented_ and hell, fucking _happy_ like that from any of the other one night stands and brief relationships he’s ever had before. It’s pretty damn obvious that things are far from over with work, and Russel _still_ annoys the shit out of him, and other people will eventually have to _know,_ but here in this bed, with this man, feels like a pretty fucking good start.

Roy must really be genuinely exhausted, because it’s only a few minutes later that his breath evens out and Ed knows he’s slipped into sleep. The arm resting heavily over his own waist is relaxed and warm, not a cage but a comfort, a promise, a foothold. This bed is an island and Ed’s up to his neck in the sand, but as long as Roy’s with him, he can be pretty okay with that.

Ed curls just a _little_ closer, and sneaks a peck over Roy’s smooth chin.

Yeah, he can probably learn to be very okay with that.

-=-=-=-=-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. (To be sung to the tune of Victorious by Panic! at the Disco)  
>  _Tonight we are victorious,_  
>  Champagne pourin' over us,  
> My boyfriend was glorious  
> Tonight I am VICTORIOUS (SO-FUCK-YOU-LING)  
> 2\. I honestly apologise for the tomfoolery that is the dialogue of this chapter. They were the last scenes I would write and I honestly just felt like saying what everyone was probably thinking at the time.  
> 3\. Next and LAST chapter is next week, you guys! Thank you all so much for every review, every comment, every kudos you dropped. :D


	8. Empirical Evidence (Epilogue)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _I think I am in love with him, he thinks drowsily._
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> Ed's arm shifts to lie across his waist, another soft mumble escaping his lips, and even on the verge of exhaustion Roy's chest twists just a little.  
>  _I am in love with him, he rephrases, pressing a kiss to Ed's temple._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hooray for early updates!!!

 

_"Head first into the water,_

_And so it hits me:_

_I guess we could breathe all along._

_One breath after another..._

_And all I know is I wanna be here with you from now on-_

_And all I know is I wanna be here with you from now on-_

_And all I know is I wanna be here with you from now on."_

-Aquaman, Walk the Moon

-=-=-=-=-

Ed is very displeased at his situation in the morning.

It’s not really the bed itself; as a matter of fact, it’s comfortable as _fuck._ Maybe having big, fluffy, frankly delectable beds is a Mustang tradition.

No, the thing is that he’s impossibly comfortable and generally well-rested, but Roy is nowhere in sight.

His first impulse to look towards the bathroom, but the door is wide open and the lights are off. So, unless Roy has been hiding his true form as a vampire with urinary frequency problems, it’s not a likely bet.

Nose wrinkling, Ed slides out of bed and elects to use the bathroom himself. While he’s washing his hands, he glances in the mirror and notices what he didn’t last night: that on the wall behind himself someone has drawn cat ears in sharpie marker, so that it appears to rest on his head. Surely Maes must have come over at some point; he can’t see Roy creating that on his own steam, and Elysia would be too short. Ed snorts and dries his hands off, snagging Roy’s robe on the way out. If he’s not going to use this (yet another) dangerously comfortable thing, _somebody_ should. It’s just good sense.

Halfway down the stairs he realises that it’s the familiar smell of bacon cooking, and something that’s either waffles or some kind of cake. Maybe both. Maybe Roy moonlights as a master chef with a fetish for the savage combination of dessert and breakfast food.

Edward’s stomach growls when he jumps the second step to the floor, and he rolls his eyes. Maybe that’s an acceptable second self.

The guilty party in question is stirring a mixture of something over the kitchen sink, handsome face set in concentration. Ed’s nose proves correct as he notices the waffle maker steaming away off to the left, cooking what can only be breakfast. Bacon is also cooking in a large metal pan, looking like it’s had its home in the Mustang residence for quite some time. That’s good; Ed always trusts someone more if their cooking dishes look like they’ve had constant use.

Roy turns around when he hears Edward enter the kitchen, and the smile that spreads over his face makes Ed feel stupidly warm and tingly inside, fluffy robe aside.

“I see you’ve commandeered my bath-wear,” he observes, pointing a spatula at the aforementioned object.

Ed shrugs his shoulders, feeling a returning smile on his mouth. “Well, it was just _there_.”

Roy gives him an amused look and turns back to the food, ladling another spoonful of waffle mix onto the maker and taking the now-cooked one off. He sets it on a plate that Ed has just now realised holds multiple waffles. He makes a grab for one, is smacked for his trouble, sulks and takes a seat at the bar area.

“All things are better for waiting,” Roy tells him smoothly, flipping the bacon.

“’S that why you waited so long to fuck me?” Ed inquires over his folded arms.

A grin spreads across his face when Roy noticeably reddens at the question. But he rallies admirably when he makes his reply: “Well, you did look suitably delicious.”

Now it’s Ed’s turn; he scrunches up his face and ignores whatever triumphant face Roy is probably making to slide off his stool to prowl once more. “Is there coffee?”

Roy looks positively indignant as he points him towards a pot, and a _prepared cup of coffee for him_ , half-hidden behind the other side of the refrigerator. “What kind of host would I be if there wasn’t coffee involved with breakfast?”

“Well, you’re a pretty shitty person,” Ed observes, picking up his coffee with a completely neutral expression. “I guess I just figured.”

“Did you?” Distracted by the promise of caffeine, Ed is caught completely off-guard as arms snake around his waist. Roy rests his chin on top of his shoulder, despite the fact that he must be doing some serious contorting to get that low. It’s hardly _Ed’s_ fault that he’s annoying and tall.

Ed scowls at him, craning his neck to see Roy’s face out of the corner of his eye. The man in question appears entirely unapologetic. “I think that’s a little unfair of you.”

“Well, _I_ think that it’s unfair to be kept from my coffee, yet here we are,” Ed retorts, shimmying.

Roy holds fast. “But the waffles, Edward.” He sounds far too innocent. “I’m making you _waffles_ for breakfast. Surely those are not the actions of a callous man.”

Ed opens his mouth to speak, but Roy isn’t finished yet. Nosing into Ed’s loosely braided hair, he tacks on, “Especially not one unappreciative of such a beautiful guest.”

The blonde in his grasp scowls again, but mutters something suspiciously close to _“Damn it,”_ before pressing a kiss to Roy’s unprotected cheek and taking up his coffee cup once again. Grinning triumphantly, Roy releases him and goes back to the food. Ed notes that he cleverly turned the heat down to next to nothing in order to buy himself more time. Grumbling internally, he makes his way back to his seat at the bar, cursing all clever bastards and their senses of forethought.

Ed looks down at his coffee cup, swirling the contents and squinting just slightly. "Did you put an 'N' in there on purpose?"

Roy gives him a look. "Absolutely."

Ed sips it, then sets his cup down and holds it in his hands. "What's it stand for, then? Nihilism?"

Roy is still looking at him, but he takes a longsuffering sip of his own coffee before Ed continues.

"First rule of coffee design is we don't talk about coffee design?"

Roy rolls his eyes, and Edward grins from his spot at the bar. "No, Ed, it wasn't on purpose. My coffee-design skills don't go beyond making large circles and the occasional spiral shape."

"Yeah, but now you can add letters to the list," Ed reminds him, taking another gulp of coffee. It burns his tongue just a little, and there's foam on the corners of his lips when he finishes. Roy's heart swells to what must be an unhealthy size. He rolls his eyes in a manner that he fears is undeniably _fond,_ and presses on.

“I trust you slept well?” He inquires, calm once again as he piles bacon on a sapphire blue ceramic plate protected by a paper towel underneath.

“Yeah, slept pretty good.” Ed wonders if he should be helping in some way to contribute to this breakfast. “Do you want, like, help with anything?”

“Glad to hear it,” his companion answers to the first part of Ed’s sentence, and then gestures off to his right with a graceful hand. “There are napkins and silverware in those two drawers over there. Since you seem to like sitting at the bar so much, you can set that, if you like.”

Nodding his head, Ed slides off his seat once again and collects the necessary items. He debates several different methods of folding the napkins before deciding on a simple triangular fold, then lays them down on the appropriate place mats. Yes, Roy has those, too, in a clean shade of cream and completely spotless. Ed wonders idly how often his boyfriend has people over to his house.

Blinking, he realises that he just used the term _boyfriend_ to describe his _something,_ and smiles. There are probably worse terms to use, and it’s appropriate, right? Generally when you hastily indicate to your fellow employee that you’re desperately in love with them moments before they go on the runway, it’s an indicator of _something._

He must be grimacing to himself, because Roy leans to place a plate of steaming bacon on the counter, and then a smacking kiss to Ed’s cheek. “Waffles will be done momentarily.”

“Why are you so gross?” Ed inquires hopelessly, scrubbing his cheek with the back of one hand.

“You weren’t complaining last night,” Roy notes mildly. “Syrup?”

“Fuck you, and fuck, yes,” Ed responds, assuaged by the promise of food but still unutterably irritated about it.

Roy just smiles at him sweetly as he brings the waffles over, also resting in their golden glory on a ceramic blue plate. Ed is beginning to wonder if he has some sort of fetish.

The syrup rests next to it, in between the plate of bacon and the plate of waffles, and Roy offers him the bottle first. “Something sweet?”

“Gotta balance out the unsatisfying parts,” Ed notes, trying to hold back a smirk but mostly failing.

Roy helps himself to two pieces of bacon and takes a sip of his coffee. “I feel like I’m being personally attacked.”

Having finished practically drowning his breakfast in maple syrup, Ed sets the bottle back down and shrugs. “I can’t help it if you feel that way.”

Roy offers him a _look_ in return, and Ed grins. Cutting out a frankly huge piece of the two stacked waffles he has chosen, he crams it into his mouth, and for a few moments there is only the sound of chewing. Roy still manages to look like he’s modeling even when chowing on a piece of dead pig, and Ed will never _not_ be affronted by this fact.

Affronted, and maybe a little pleased, because it sure wasn’t _Russel Tringham_ being kissed by that decadent mouth last night. Or a few minutes ago. Or just now. Or-

Ed stops himself before his internal monologue can embarrass him further. Roy seems to be contentedly focussed on his first waffle for the moment, but he breaks his attention a moment later to look at him in amusement. “What do you want to do today?”

Ed finishes chewing, takes a gulp of coffee, and wipes his mouth with his hand.

“There _is_ a napkin, right there,” Roy points out, mildly perturbed, but also resigned.

“I’m a firm believer in the concept of eating free of manufactured goods,” Ed counters, waving a piece of drenched waffle on his fork like a decapitated head.

“Is that so?” Roy says drily, cutting another piece of food. “But really, what do you want to do?”

Ed shifts around on his stool, pausing. It’s not that he hasn’t considered the answer to this question; he’s thought about it quite a lot, actually. But phrasing his answer is proving to be a challenging piece of business. It probably sounds lame as shit in anyone else’s ears but his own.

“You don’t have to answer yet, if you don’t want to,” Roy offers, offering Edward’s shoulder a squeeze. The squeezed is, once again, struck by Roy’s kindness; the thinly-veiled good-heartedness that Ed is still shocked others cannot or choose not to see.

 _After all,_ his subconscious reminds him. _It’s always easier to hate someone than get to know them._

Ed’s subconscious has been offering so much commentary lately that he’s seriously considering naming it Ted and writing it a part in his will.

“I know what I want,” he answers Roy’s reassurance frankly. “But it’ll probably sound boring as fuck.”

Roy shrugs, still looking at him. “I doubt it. You’ll be there after all.”

Ed stabs a piece of bacon with his fork, and he hates him, hates him, hates him. “I wanna just…go around. You not be a model, ‘m not your PA. We visit places and eat lunch and get coffee and shit, just like normal people do.” Like he’s wanted to, he doesn’t add.

For a moment, Roy says nothing, but when he does it’s with his face going quite soft. He seems to be finished with his breakfast, at least by the way that he links his fingers with Edward’s free hand and smiles at him. “That sounds magnificent.”

Ed drops his fork with a light clatter on the marble counter, and pulls him in for a kiss that is much easier than _talking_ and far pleasanter than crying, even a little.

-=-=-=-=-

The first place they visit is the New York Aquarium, because aquariums are awesome as fuck. And because they’re doing a special sea lion show, which Ed _hopes_ will deter the other observers from habituating the halls and more claustrophobic spaces.

Despite the fact that they’re not trying to draw anyone’s attention, Roy’s wardrobe choice seems to be of the mindset _I don’t know how to dress casually._ Or maybe it _is_ pretty casual, but Ed has become so blinded due to prolonged exposure to the Mustang in question that he can no longer tell the difference.

Today the mood seems to be a pair of dark jeans, a button-up pale blue shirt, and a pair of shoes Ed has never actually seen him wear before. He does, of course, also have his favourite pair of sunglasses, hooked over the collar of his shirt. Ed, on the other hand, is merely wearing his favourite black jeans and a white t-shirt. It’s a surprisingly _Roy_ look to have, actually, but he doesn’t seem to mind being imitated at all.

The aquarium is, as Ed expected, buzzing with people, but many of them seem to be there for the sea lions. Ed _does_ like them, but not as much as he likes moving unimpeded through the conservation hall.

Roy insists on paying for their tickets, and Ed lets him, because the looks he keeps drawing from women coming inside are grating on his nerves a little.

It _doesn’t_ grate on his nerves, however, when Roy hands him hiss ticket with a smile and a kiss. That doesn’t so much _grate_ as _feel great._

Normally he feels a little uncomfortable walking around with his scarred-up arm on full display, but somehow he barely thinks about it. It turns out Roy has not been to the aquarium in several years, which Ed is quick to inform him is frankly _criminal,_ and then lead him to the stingrays.

Because of this fact, and also because Ed is absent-minded, Roy is Keeper of the Map, and he gets to decide where they go in which order.

“But,” Ed warns him, tugging him along in his eagerness to see the reef, “we _will_ be seeing everything.”

He frequently updates Al on the proceedings via either Snapchat or even a vine or two. He knows they’ll make his little brother laugh, and hell, if Ed himself wants to stash them away for later, no one can judge him.

“Oh my god!” He whips around from a pleasant analysis of his favourite clownfish, whom he has memorised the features of and hence named Lenny. There is no actual reason for this choice.

A girl with an exhausted looking teenage boy who may be her younger brother has one hand covering her mouth. Her eyes flicker over Ed, but it’s Roy she’s really looking towards. “You’re Roy Mustang, right?”

“That’s correct,” Ed’s boyfriend replies, _professional model_ ’s voice immediately slipping on. It makes Ed grind his teeth just a little, but he reminds himself that this is something he just has to expect. He’d once read on Tumblr that celebrities lose about 60% plus of their privacy when they become famous, and well, Roy is kind of a celebrity, in some ways.

To her credit, the girl is very polite. “I’m sorry to bother you; I saw you in Fusion last week; I came to that show.”

Roy’s eyebrows go up politely. “Did you?”

She nods her head. “Yeah, it was awesome. You guys looked great.” Blushing slightly, she digs around in her messenger bag for a minute before pulling out a paisley notebook. “Would you be willing to sign my notebook? I’m really sorry to bother you guys.” She seems to tack on the ‘guys’ part after a swift glance back to Ed, then it’s all Roy again.

 _If you’re really sorry, you could just go away,_ Ed thinks uncharitably. Ted does have a point.

“Absolutely,” is what Roy replies, taking the notebook smoothly and scribbling his name on a blank sheet at the back with the blue pen she hands him. She beams at him when he hands it back, unable to resist a peek at it before sliding the notebook back into her bag.

Ed makes momentary eye contact with the teenage boy. It is clear that he cares nothing as to whether Roy is the ruler of Bulgaria or a grimy beggar come to steal the fish.  He shrugs his shoulders resignedly behind his sister’s back, and Ed feels sympathy.

“So, like, are you going to work with them again?” His thoughts are interrupted by the girl’s speech tuning back in, referring to Fusion.

Roy offers a light shrug, his gaze suddenly falling warm and liquid over Ed. Hah. Liquid. Because they’re in an aquarium?

Ed tells Ted to shut up.

“I’m not sure, actually. My boyfriend Ed manages everything of that nature; he’s my PA.”

Ed watches the girl’s brown eyes widen hilariously, and then promptly go back to their normal size as she realises. “I didn’t know you had a boyfriend!” she says, but this time, she’s actually _looking_ at Ed.

While he would probably have been completely content to just edge away and then maybe throw himself into the shark’s tank, Ed is prevented from doing this by a warm arm sliding around his waist, pulling him a little closer. Is it acceptable behaviour to begin scowling murderously at one’s significant other in public? Ed does it anyway.

“Not of very long, but yes,” Roy responds, with that damn _ease_ Ed has always envied; the kind that lets him say shit like that without twitching a muscle, without _caring_ what the reaction is.

The girl looks at Ed for a moment longer, but she doesn’t look displeased. “That’s _awesome_ ,” she finally says, startling him. Roy is probably a little shocked, too, not that you’d _know_ it by his stupid attractive neutrally polite face.

“Thank you,” Roy smiles again, indicating that the conversation has reached the end of its natural lifespan. Sure, she can continue, but Roy is no longer a fish on the line of courtesy.

She seems to get it, fortunately, and steps back so that she’s next to her brother. “It was great seeing you guys,” she informs, excitement still lacing her tone. “Enjoy your trip!”

Roy actually lifts his hand in a wave, the other still entrapping Ed like an octopus with most of its limbs severed. “You as well.”

Once they’ve continued on their way, and the girl is no longer in sight, Ed attempts to get free. He fails at this. “Why’re you all clingy?”

“Is it so wrong to want to walk with the person I love?” Roy inquires, smooth as a cuttlefish’s skin.

“Not to _walk,_ ” Ed retorts, resisting the buzz under his skin at the word, because that would mean Roy is _winning._ “But you’ve got me all…”

“All…?” Roy prompts, and the edge of his grin is not lost on Ed.

“All _trapped_ and shit!” Ed finally says indignantly.

Roy looks down at him, expression growing more serious as he releases Ed. The absence is suddenly like a wave of cold water. “My apologies. I didn’t know I was making you uncomfortable.”

They continue to walk for a few paces, at which point Ed breaks. “It was. Kind of nice,” he mutters.

Roy’s smile is the sun glinting through the waves, and Ed feels stupidly happy at the feeling of a warm arm taking its place around him once again.

-=-=-=-=-=-

They decide to follow the current sea-related trend, and eat lunch at the connected Seaside Café that they heard a few aquarium-goers talking about. The food is cheap and fairly decent for _seafood from New York,_ and Ed enjoys his tuna sandwich with two extra lemon wedges to squeeze. Roy gets the seafood pasta, and seems to enjoy the scallops, although he notes that the shrimp is a little rubbery.

“It’s very difficult,” he notes, spearing a forkful, “to get shrimp at the right time, I’ve been told.”

“Huh,” Ed nods his acknowledgement. Seemingly useless facts that he didn’t previously know are one of his favourite things.

“Where after this?” Roy inquires, looking at him over his glass of ice-water. The gesture leaves little fingerprints all over it, and Ed is helplessly charmed by a ridiculously commonplace gesture.

“Dunno,” he responds. “You pick.”

Roy looks out the window as he thinks it over, then back to Ed with a smile. “Coffee?”

Ed rolls his eyes. “I should have seen that coming.”

“Probably still too focussed on seeing me coming,” Roy shrugs.

Ed spits out his bite of sandwich.

-=-=-=-=-=-

“I’m surprised only one person came up t’you, honestly,” Ed remarks.

They’ve picked their normal spot, at their normal café, and Ed framed by the afternoon sunlight has his hair radiant, and Roy’s entire chest feels like it’s glowing faintly. He sets down his iced mocha, hands still around it cylindrical surface. “It’s not that surprising.”

Ed, who is drinking a hot chocolate even though it’s a tad too warm to be drinking one, scoffs. “You heard what she said. If kids like her are attending fashion events like Fusion, I’d say you’re getting around pretty quickly.”

“Do you think so?” Roy isn’t fishing for a compliment. He seems genuinely intrigued by the idea.

“Yeah,” Ed nods thoughtfully, licking a dollop of whipped cream off the rim of his mug. “I don’t think you’re only gonna be famous at Amestris anymore.”

Roy stirs the remaining ice cubes for the hope of a little hidden mocha. Finding none, he smiles anyway and looks back up at Ed. “How kind of you to say.”

There is quiet for a few moments, and then it is predictably broken by a curse.

“Damn,” Ed mutters, then swiftly drains the last of his hot chocolate. There is whipped cream on his lip.

“What’s the matter?” Roy inquires, hoping the answer is quick.

Ed looks up at him, solemn. “I’m gonna have _so much_ paperwork when you start gettin’ contacted by all these people.”

Roy’s first impulse is to laugh, and then he reaches across the table until he has kissed off every drop of treacherous whipped cream, and then some.

-=-=-=-=-=-

Ed, for one, is still feeling pretty wiped out from the events of the past weekend, and surprises Roy with the request to go home and nap for a little. “Just a little,” he reminds, checking his phone. “It’s already 4:30.”

Roy nods his assent. “I’m supportive of this plan.”

“Can we have sex first, though?” His boyfriend asks, ever frank.

Undeterred, Roy joins their fingers once again. He’s actually a little surprised himself to be found so _clingy,_ but maybe it’s his body’s internal drive making up for lost time. What might be even more surprising, however, is the fact that Ed does not pull back, or away, like he used to. In fact, he leans into it and smiles. “That is definitely a thing that can happen.”

Home is so close at this point from their day of strolling around that it’s an easy walk back, and it’s a little strange to Ed how quickly the term of _home_ has become accepted in his mind for the place where Roy lives. Although, to be fair, it’s where Ed has lived for the past couple days, as well. The breeze is light today, with Roy’s favourite kind of sunny weather.

“Do you think this’ll just be, like, some sort of summer love?” Ed inquires dubiously, as Roy unlocks his front door.

“Are you asking that because of the weather? Because I’m told it’s supposed to get cool again at the end of this week.” Roy surveys the two blue plates in the sink as if he has intrinsically failed something major.

Ed gives him a look. It’s really remarkably similar to the _patented Mustang look,_ and Roy feels as if his identity has been stolen, or at least borrowed from, somehow.

Growing more serious, Roy turns his attention away from the dishes and towards him. “I highly doubt it.”

“You’re thinking of some cheesy pun right now, aren’t you?” 

“Why would you say a thing like that?” Roy demands, innocent as a flower.

A poisonous, spiky cactus flower. “Because you’ve got that face on.”

“My what face?”

“The thinking-of-something-stupid face. It’s pretty constant.”

“You know, you abuse me a lot for someone who made you waffles and bacon this morning,” Roy observes mournfully. “I’m thinking of filing a complaint.”

Ed scoffs. “To who, Riza?”

“Only if drastic measures are required,” Roy returns loftily. “I was thinking about going to Alphonse.”

“Oh, speaking of him.” Ed pulls out his cellphone with his right hand and begins scrolling through something therein. “Al wants to have dinner sometime this week. I know that I’m basically managing your schedule for you work-wise, but any preferred evenings?”

“Hmm,” Roy considers this as he starts up the hot water. Seriously, how _could_ he have forgotten to put them in the dishwasher this morning before leaving? Perhaps the presence of Ed has numbed him to normal practicalities. If this becomes a constant thing, it may prove somewhat troublesome. “I don’t remember having anything slated for Wednesday. Does that work for you, too?”

“Yeah, it should.” Ed nods his head, looking around the kitchen. Somehow Roy doubts he’s admiring the kitchen towels. “Feels kinda weird talking about _schedules_ and shit when we’re not even at work.”

“We can save it for the office, if you prefer,” Roy shrugs, up to his elbows now in bubbles and hot water. “I just thought this was more efficient.”

“Hmm,” Ed agrees (or maybe disagrees; it’s so hard to tell when he makes noises like that).

“If you’re looking for leftovers, we ate them all,” Roy informs him factually. “My sincere apologies.”

Ed looks like his knees might crumple underneath him. “Betrayal,” he whispers.

Roy pulls a dish rag out of a drawer and grins at him. “We didn’t have lunch _that_ long ago, Ed.”

Still disappointed, Ed lets out a huff. “That hot chocolate was _tiny._ Not satisfactory at all.”

Reaching up to put away the dishes (damn him and his unnatural _tallness_ ), Roy then closes the cabinet door and comes forward to pull Ed closer. He lets his chin rest on Edward’s golden head, breathing out a quiet sigh.

“You seem to like doin’ that an awful lot,” Ed mutters, distinctly absent of complaints.

“Hmm, yes, but I like doing _this_ an awful lot, too,” Roy rumbles, and dips his head to kiss him. Ed would probably make some sort of front about being offended and denied food, if it weren’t for the fact that Roy has looked absolutely relaxed today in a way Ed hasn’t seen in a long time. Plus, he tastes fucking _amazing,_ and Ed will absolutely make do if he must.

It’s all heat and slick wetness; typical _Mustang_ demonstrations with a surprising dash of familiarity thrown in. Ed’s got his arms around Roy’s neck before he can think about it much, sighing against the warmth of his mouth when he feels Roy’s arms curl around his waist in return.

The thing about Roy is that he _could_ touch Ed up and get into his business right here, in the kitchen of his home. He could _do_ that, and Ed would let him. Maybe it’s a tinge of the old-fashioned in him, but more likely it’s just gross intrinsic Mustang charm that makes his hands curl into Ed’s own instead of his ass. Kisses him senseless, to be sure, but it’s the kind of thing that still makes you want more even while you’re pulling in whole lungfuls of it.

The kind of shit you can never get enough of, really.

It’s probably also a sign of Roy’s approaching and utter doom that he releases Ed with a gentle kiss to the corner of his mouth, still holding both hands in his own. “Shall we take this upstairs?” He inquires, voice still pitched low and warm and more than a little sultry.

Ed swallows at the back of his throat, not from fear, for once, for _fucking once,_ or tension, or exhaustion, but from sheer _enjoyment._ He is going to go upstairs, he is going to let Roy Mustang fuck him senseless, and maybe he’ll return the favour the other way ‘round.

So he squeezes Roy’s hands just a little tighter, and smiles a little wolfishly. “We fuckin’ better.”

-=-=-=-=-=-=-

Roy fucks him slow and steady; there’s no frantic energy in it, no desperation, just warm afternoon sunlight spilling from the windows and the pitcher of gold it pours over Ed’s river of hair. It’s undeniably slow, and unbelievably _fun,_ for a tempo that Ed had once labelled as ‘an old person’s gymnastic’.

He bends to lick a stripe up the shell of Ed’s ear, and the man below him moans appreciatively. He hikes up his legs just a little further around Roy’s waist, grinding a little harder to pull Roy in just a little deeper. The heat of their breath mingles together and Roy’s cock is _throbbing_ from the beautiful, _glorious_ tightness that is Edward Elric’s ass. Maybe there’s also an element in the sheer _softness_ of his thighs, how trusting Ed lets himself be with his throat completely bared and hair hanging loose around his shoulders. God, but it smells amazing. Roy briefly considers all the things it reminds him of; a field of wheat, pale yellow sticky-notes, the same sunlight that spills in through the window, the brightness of ranunculus flowers.

The bedsheets tangle around their entwined bodies, crumpled and pale and sinfully soft. Roy reaches up from where he’d been sucking a mark on Ed’s neck to plundering his mouth once more, bringing in the whole ensemble of teeth and lips and tongue until it’s just one devastating _symphony_ of all things unfair and pleasurable. Despite their cleanliness when they’d first started, Ed’s enthusiastic twisting to get Roy’s slick fingers just a little deeper has hopelessly soiled them, or at least until their next washing.

At some point Roy leans over Ed’s perfectly-normal-sized frame, nuzzling his way into the soft hair over his ear and murmuring, “Is this alright?”

Ed is stuck halfway between a moan and a laugh, but despite the pace of his heart and the _feel_ of his body, he manages to get out, “This is friggin’ _awesome._ ”

Roy grins at him; brighter than afternoon sunlight, warmer than waffles in the morning, more sultry than the one he ever gives the crowds. He rolls his hips just a little more when he tilts his head to mouth a kiss on Ed’s pulse point, and something about that just absolutely drives Ed over the edge.

He comes with Roy’s name in his mouth, and a little of his own hair in there, too, and a frankly earth-shattering orgasm that’s no less decimating for how truly Roy had taken his time about it. When Roy releases with a bitten off groan of his own, Ed pulls him down by the neck and kisses his face all over, because it’s nice that he finally _can._

Roy acquiesces with a wordless sigh, gentle to pull out and then reach for the cloth he’d strategically left on the night stand. It’s a little dry, but Ed feels much better after Roy has carefully cleaned them back up, and is quick to curl into his boyfriend’s offered arms. For once he ignores the whole _height_ dilemma, opting instead to fucking _snuggle_ against Roy’s warmth and yawn contentedly.

“Satisfactory, I trust?” The smirk in Roy’s voice is too evident to be dignified with an answer, and so Ed merely grunts.

He feels a kiss being pressed to the top of his head, and then gentle fingers pulling through his hair.

“You’ve _gotta_ see someone ‘bout this hair fetish’ve yours,” he mumbles, entirely too content to struggle.

“But why bother with that drivel when I’m acquainted with you?” Clearly even sex itself isn’t enough to quell Roy Mustang’s monumental vocabulary.

Ed makes a weak attempt to punch him in the arm, which ends up with him just kind of halfheartedly brushing Roy’s shoulder, making him laugh. Roy kisses him again, warm and soft and just a tiny bit breathy, and Ed sinks into sleep like a fucking baby.

-=-=-=-=-=-

They drift in and out of sleep for several hours; the times when Ed is lucid are the ones when he notices the sun’s gold changing colours. Roy seems to be genuinely exhausted, an arm thrown over Ed’s waist, a leg tangled in his own, and as the last of the sunlight is going away Ed contents himself to just watch his face.

It’s a perfectly fair statement to say that Roy is the romantic out of the two of them. But here, where Roy lies peaceful and relaxed in sleep, Ed can steal his fill and no one will hold it against him. He brushes a kiss to his partner’s forehead, light as the beat of a fish’s fin in the water, and Roy doesn’t stir. The goddamned bastard doesn’t even _snore;_ Ed is waiting to find out what atrocious habits he’s been keeping so carefully under wraps to make up for it.

The thing he likes the most about this situation isn’t actually the soft tickle of Roy’s breath on his shoulder, or the soft flutter of his dark eyelashes on his cheeks. Not even the curl of his arm around Ed’s hip, holding him close, even asleep. The thing Ed likes the most is how utterly _content_ Roy looks; like he isn’t worried about a single schedule, shoot, or scenario right now. He’s thought before that Roy has rarely looked so relaxed as he has been today, and that holds true. Roy curls into him like a child that feels completely safe; and something twists hot and tight in Ed’s chest at the thought.

Being around Roy so much is probably promoting the highly contagious disease of _being in love,_ but Ed doesn’t find it in himself to search for a cure. It’s a sickness that he’s fine never recovering from, as long as Roy joins him in suffering permanently.

He’s only awake for a few more minutes until Roy himself stirs, blinking at Ed with a smile. “Good evening, beautiful.”

“Evenin’ to yourself,” Ed replies as coolly as he can manage, and shifts a little. Roy has not as of yet let him go. “I’m fucking starving.”

Roy sighs, eyes rolling to stare at the ceiling as if questioning how he didn’t think of this mid-REM. He turns over a moment later, however, as if his eyes can’t bear to be parted with Ed’s own. Ed doesn’t realise what’s happening until it’s a second too late, and Roy has pulled him _close,_ both arms around him now. But he doesn’t kiss him, just watching Ed’s somewhat puzzled face with a gentleness that has his stupid heart pounding out of its ribcage.

Ed swallows, just a little. “See something you like?”

“Mhm.” Roy reaches up a hand to brush some of the hair that has fallen over Ed’s eye and tuck it behind his ear. “Lots of things.”

“I hope you haven’t fallen in love with a bunch of objects,” Ed says. “’Cause if that’s so, we need to have a serious fucking talk.”

Roy shakes his head, smiling, and _now_ he chooses to kiss him. His mouth is warm and just hinting at sleep-heavy morning-breath. (Or, evening-breath?) Surrendering to the annoyingness that is the _Mustang Sap,_ Ed lets his eyes slide closed and leans into it. They kiss slow and soft, no real play involved; Roy doesn’t seem to _want_ anything. Other than maybe Edward Elric’s mouth for an indefinite amount of time.

When they finally break apart, Roy’s thumbs caress his cheeks, and he won’t stop looking into Ed’s fucking _eyes,_ and the Edward in question isn’t sure how he’s going to live with this. Prolonged exposure to being in love _and_ being in love with Roy Mustang is scientifically guaranteed to end in death.

Or end _at_ death.

Blinking, Ed considers that statement. It’s a little heavy-handed for the first few days of a relationship, isn’t it?

But then again, it’s not like he hasn’t been in love with Roy for much longer than that.

It seems Ted has taken the steering wheel and punched the acceleration pedal, because Ed hears himself blurting out, “You’re really stupid, but. But you’re pretty neat.”

Eloquently put. He wonders if the _I love you_ in it is that obvious.

He feels his pulse spike up again a moment later, and this time it’s that hated, if familiar _fear_ sensation when Roy’s eyes go a little wide. Maybe Ed’s going too fast, or he went too far, or he’s _said too much_ once again-but Roy is smiling. He’s smiled so much today and it makes a weird part of Ed want to cry a little. _I am not a girl, I am not, even though there’s nothing wrong with that, but I’m not-_

“You’re thinking far too much,” Roy informs him, and leans up to kiss his forehead. “Thank you, sweetheart. You’re not atrociously terrible, yourself.”

Ed doesn’t know what to say, so he burrows into Roy’s chest, where he doesn’t have to say anything at all.

Roy kisses his hair, then his temple, and then lets out a contented sigh. “So. What do you feel about stir fry?”

-=-=-=-=-=-

Ed picks out something to watch while Roy’s working in the kitchen. He doesn’t have a lot in the form of DVDs, but an extensive collection of Netflix favourites and Amazon movies. Ed assumes it’s because Roy doesn’t give himself a lot of time to do shit like _sit down and watch a movie._ The man has the strangest work ethic Ed has ever witnessed.

At one point he wanders in, mostly attracted by the smell, to see Roy plating up their food. He brightens when Ed comes in, turning on the water to Hot with a push of his wrist. “Ah, Ed. Would you mind terribly helping me clean this up before we eat? It’s just the one pan.”

“Sure thing,” Ed responds, moving over to where the aforementioned pan is. He finds a sponge and the dish soap on the counter and grabs both, squeezing a liberal amount on. And a good thing, too; it seems like some of the onions caramelised just a bit too much and made a blackened residue on the sides.

"How do you even clean this pan?" He grumbles, hopelessly scrubbing at the metal surface, buried up to the elbows in bubbles. "It's such a pain in the ass."

"Hmm," Roy contemplates, pulling two napkins out of one of his many drawers. "Wouldn't you say it's a _pan_ in the ass?"

Ed finally manages to scrape most of the black death off the pan, looking at Roy with a voice dryer than dust. "No, Roy, I would not say that. Your seduction technique fuckin' _sucks_."

Roy is grinning in the way Ed knows means he’s proud of himself, and it was probably that shitty-ass pun.

He leaves the pan in the drying rack and follows Roy out to the living room.

Roy brings their plates over to the couch and sets them down on the coffee table on a tray with beers to match. He settles on the couch next to Ed, inquisitive. “What’s the movie for tonight?”

“I have decided,” Ed informs, “That in honour of our recent success, we will watch The Devil Wears Prada.”

Roy’s eyebrows go up, but he reaches over to take a sip of his beer and gives the television an amused glance. “I haven’t seen that one in a while.”

“Well, cozy up, ‘cause you’re about to.” Ed grins and makes a grab for his bowl of stir fry. It _smells_ fucking awesome; he’s looking forward to taking advantage of a boyfriend who’s proved himself such a capable cook.

They eat their Asian food while Anne Hathaway goes through multiple existential crises in the background, but by far Roy’s favourite view of the night is Ed’s face.

They’re about halfway through the movie when Ed announces, “I’m still hungry. You got popcorn?”

Roy sets his bowl back on the table, and hopes that the tastes go well together. “Pause the movie, and I’ll go see. If I’d known you were invested in this relationship for the food, I would have stocked up. You’re going to drain my pantry dry.”

“Oh, shut up,” Ed waves a hand. “It’s not _my_ fault you only provide minimal portions.”

Roy looks forlornly down at the large ceramic bowls he had used for dinner. “Just give me a minute,” he huffs.

Ed gives him a look that is positively _beaming._

-=-=-=-=-=-

They stay up late watching the movie, and then after that Ed wants to catch up on _Brooklyn Nine-Nine,_ and so they do. He laughs, the sound increasingly drunk-sounding, and by the time they’re ending their fifth episode, Roy knows it is Time to brush teeth and get some sleep.

“Ed,” he says, shaking the aforementioned’s shoulder gently. Ed’s golden eyes fix on him sleepily, strangely bright in the dim light. “We need to go to sleep.”

Edward lets out a huff, as if terribly affronted, but he makes it off the couch and narrowly avoids overturning the abandoned un-popped kernels in the bottom of his popcorn bowl. Roy assists him by the arm, and it’s ridiculous and they are _grown men_ but there is nothing short of a _teenager_ tearing his heart to pieces over the sight of Ed stealing his toothbrush. Really, he should be more affronted than anything else. But he waits patiently for it back, entire chest glowing with what is probably the result of stir-fry and a few pieces of popcorn. He remembers their dishes a few moments later, and hurries to get rid of them. By _get rid of them,_ he rinses them out, puts them quickly in the dishwasher, and casts a longing look at the vacuum. Tomorrow. And tomorrow he will wipe the table, and straighten up the coffee table, and-

“Roy?” Ed’s tired voice calls down the stairs. “You comin’?”

Roy could insert a pun there, but he is frankly tired, and values his genitals, and he’s already moving up the stairs when these thoughts occur to him.

He brushes his teeth while Ed uses the bathroom, and then does the same. Finally they tumble into bed, exhausted and happy and a little giddy. Ed curls around Roy like a contented barnacle, and Roy pulls up the coverlet before snapping out the light.

“Sl’p well,” he hears Ed mumble into his shoulder.

Nuzzling his hair with a smile that no one will ever see, he murmurs, “You, too,” back.

In the resulting quiet, Roy idly listens to the sounds of the city outside and Ed’s gentle breathing inside. He wonders how long it will take for Ed to start snoring.

His question is answered only a few minutes later, with the advent of Ed falling asleep, the room is filled with admittedly quiet snores. Roy resigns himself to it, and yawns right as he feels Ed mumble something inaudible into his shoulder.

 _I think I am in love with him,_ he thinks drowsily.

Ed's arm shifts to lie across his waist, another soft mumble escaping his lips, and even on the verge of exhaustion Roy's chest twists just a little.

 _I am in love with him,_ he rephrases, pressing a kiss to Ed's temple.

Roy Mustang is convinced, with empirical evidence, that his new job as boyfriend is the best in the entire world.

-=-=-=-=-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. Alternative chapter title: Ed is Super Happy and Salty Af About it  
> 2\. I watched The Devil Wears Prada a few weeks ago, and was constantly amused by the connotations of exhausted PA working for over-dramatic boss.  
> 3\. Thank you guys so much for reading this stupid thing. I can’t really believe it’s over, even though it wasn’t that long. As always, I thank the efforts and input of my beloved Fishingclocks. You guys commenting on this work has brought so many smiles to my face, and I hope you enjoyed the ride as much as I did.  
> 4\. There’s a [playlist](http://8tracks.com/paradoxinmotion/all-that-i-know) for this fic! It’s mostly just stuff I listened to while writing. :)

**Author's Note:**

> 1\. [Here’s Ed’s super schnazzy computer.](http://www.dell.com/us/p/xps-18-1820-aio/pd) I’m so in love with it. If you’re wondering why on earth Ed of all people would have a computer like that, in this Verse the entire office contributed a little to getting it for him as a present for putting up with Roy for a whole year. That was about a year and a half ago. 
> 
> 2\. Yes, we do get to find out why the fuck Mazen has such a weirdass name. 
> 
> 3\. There will be a second 'part' that updates as I update this work (Paradox is gonna UPDATE, what a laugh) with 'bloopers', writer's notes, explanations for little headcanons that get slipped in, and the like. I got the idea with the person that #4 is for, and I'm eager to try it out. 
> 
> 4\. This is the brainchild of 'Clocks and I's storyboarding a few days ago. She actually didn't hate the idea, which was great, so I'm going to try to be diligent with this for her. We'll see if my motivation remains with her to please. Ya went fishing, and you caught my fancy. *Blows kiss.* (But seriously, I want my fancy back, you thief. Rude...) 
> 
> 5\. Holy hell if you read all of these notes just know that you have my respect.


End file.
